Escaping the Inescapable
by lucia marin
Summary: A sudden turn of emotions causes Rory to do the unimaginable: run away, and even more unimaginably, with Tristan...not intentionally, but what will result of the unexpected weekend in New Orleans? Friendship? Disaster? Love..? One of them? Or maybe all...
1. the runaway and her hostage.

Hey! it's me again, and this fic's better than the first...Rory finally cracks, and throws caution to the wind, employing the first person in her path to help her. Of course it would be Tristan.....but how will it turn out? Between the plane rides, accidents, midnight swims, and more accidents....of the unaccidental kind....some of that good old sexual tension, quirky dialogues and fresh ideas.....enjoy....

luce

All I own's the story bit 

so if ya sue me you'll get shit. 

That's the lil' disclaimer for ya'll........

Escaping the Inescapable

"an accident is often only a planned mistake."

unknown

It's cool fall outside, a fiery, sparkling, brilliant fall; the kind that chills you with all it's hard jeweled glory, ruby and topaz leaves, sapphire skies, .....

longingly, I stare out the window as the teacher drones on and on about why king henry the eights cut off all his wife's heads.

"Madeleine?" smiles the teacher, a rusty, polite smile.

"Well see, my theory is, that it's like, easier than divorcing, right? I mean, my mom sued my dad like, flat broke; now, suppose you have 4 cars, two beach houses-"

"Thank you Madeleine, that's enough." replied the teacher dourly, cutting her off. Madeleine shrugged and went back to filing her nails.

"Wasn't one of his wives named Mary?" asks Tristan pointedly, looking at me.

I want to bang my head against a desk.

The teacher points to Paris and she pulls out a notebook full of an essay answer which she promptly starts to rattle off.

Outside, the fall trembles and chills without me, and sadly I stare as one golden leaf falls to the ground slowly.

Everything's going as well as can go considering everything's so messed up.

Thing's haven't been the same since Dean. I mean......I couldn't say it. I don't know why. Feeling as lost as lost could be, I wandered down the hallways of disillusionment and sadness, feeling my tentative attempt at life had not been good enough. Kissing the jerk sitting a couple of seats from me made it even more complicated........and as hard as my mother tries, there's things I can't tell...can't explain. A feeling that I want to escape, escape the predictable routine, the plaid skirt...the mindless coffee absorption. This sudden feeling shocks me. I'm a good person...I'd never do anything as insensitive as run. Then why do I have this feeling, this desire to just stand up and walk out?

I'm not a romantic, I'm a realist...anyone could tell you that. But the way today is feeling, a sense of autumn sweeps invisibly through the closed window and takes me over. Blood stirs in my veins, fiery and rusty, full of an age old instinct to disappear into the unknown. But where will I go?

And most importantly, who will I go with?

Stop it Rory, I scream at myself silently. Are you out of your mind? This is not you!

But the mahogany and chalk dust that imprisons me only draws closer, and I can't breathe. I don't want to hurt my mother....I don't want to.....I can't go with Lane. She'd be punished forever. I can't take....anyone else....

With a start, I feel a pang of pain when I think of Dean, sitting beside me in the car; we could've drove off, come back in one day. I'd go anywhere with him.

Not anymore.....

A desperation settles over me, then, a quiet determination. I can do this. And I'll have to.

I think my brain's stopped working, because I don't care anymore; I'm living in a strange, new world, a world that's frighteningly free and scary, but I don't want to leave. Funny how far you can get when you don't care anymore.

The bell rings, and I know I should be leaving promptly; but, I don't want to do what I know I should be.

I sit and stare out the window a few minutes more, and before I'm just about to snap back to it, I feel a presence next to me.

I wish the floor would open up and swallow me, when he speaks,

"Hey Mary, waiting for me?"

"Yeah, waiting for you to disappear." I mutter, and he grins.

"Adoring as usual. I can't take all the love. What's wrong with you? You usually dash out of here like you're late for some fatal appointment."

"None of your business," I slip under my breath, but he just leans closer and leers.

"Waiting till everyone clears out so we can do it on top of the teacher's desk?" 

Frustrated and annoyingly blushed, I turn around and eyeball him. Giving him a seductive smile, I lean closer.

"Yes. You read my mind. How did you do it? Or did you instinctively know I wanted you like that?"

For once, he has nothing to say, and I'm amazed at how quickly the power switched.

" I think we should go ahead. I might even stop calling you Mary afterwards." he managed after a moment.

"Yes," I whispered, grabbing the remainder of my books. "Unfortunately, you forget your flavor of the day is waiting for you by the lockers. Hurry, the special today is strawberry chapstick and whatever she ate for lunch."

Hoisting up my backpack, I marched out the clasroom, leaving him staring.

When I step up to the bus stop, I suddenly and forcefully realize how much I don't want to get on.

Suppose you went somewhere else, just for a day. It's the weekend, you won't miss anything.....don't worry, don't worry, was playing over and over in my mind. Chilled, I shook it out of my head.

The car is full of broad, deep curves that intrigue me. The moment that it rolls up and I see his face, a madness I can't explain fills me, and all of a sudden I'm walking towards it.

Surprised, he looks at me but says nothing.

He opens the door, as if reading my mind; I'm confused but I'm sure, and blocking out the pain of everything, I forget it all.

"Want a ride?" he grins, and I don't say yes or no. I just climb in. Slinging my bag into the backseat, I take off my blazer and then my shirt, leaving me in a white wifebeater; the faint dry, swallowing sound he makes threatens to bring a tiny smile to my face.

"Where to?" he asks, and stares with unguarded curiosity, examining me with no vestige of shyness.

It's a game, and if I'm going to win I have to stay one step ahead all the time.

"Anywhere the hell you want." I answer carelessly, and turn up the radio.

It's a Chrysler convertible, newest model, huge and roomy; the wind blows through my hair, sifting it's wild fingers through it and flinging it everywhere as we race down the interstate. The leather of the seat sticks to my bare thighs underneath my skirt; suddenly, I want to tilt my head back and laugh. I watch the traffic backup on the opposite direction lanes, and feel free. It's just me, and a beautiful boy on a jeweled fall afternoon; wind in our hair and misery left behind with every mile we drive, far away from those poor, pathetic people returning from their daily grind. The late afternoon sunshine sets his hair on fire, melting it into pure gold, and we say nothing at all, drinking in freedom and possibility.

We're still driving and I still don't know where we're going; but soon we'll know. Twilight's slowly stealing over the sky, and in the gathering dusk his eyes glow deep blues and purples.

And I don't care anymore.

Part 1

So, what didja think? Lots more bout to happen, I'm playing out this idea cause it's probly never been done, expect it to get sweeter and more frustrating.....it might turn to R, we'll see how far my imagination wanders. Can't repress that artistic license.....Review or flame if you please.


	2. a brave new world.

Next part up! They're on the road to the airport right now, in case anyone's confused. He's stopped the car for a quick second ....and then........ for anyone who saw that ending of this Tuesday's episode, my heart is broken. and if you're trory, so is yours...well, not seriously but hey, what a blower! anyhow, here's the next bit, getting better and better....the heat is turning up soon.......lemme know what you think.

luce

disclaimer on first ch.

I should have never stopped the car.

I couldn't have known, but now as I see it.....waking up alone, not remembering the dizzying feeling of freedom, feeling only loneliness and confusion, turning to see the face of someone...you don't know...someone who frightens you ...

She's ran out into the pouring rain, her slender fingers snapping the door open, the heavy drops pouring over her face. I can't do anything but run out, hoping to catch her before a car hit her. It's dark on the highway, the sporadic red lights piercing the torrent; a car whizzes past, spraying me; I just run after her. Lost, staggering like a small child she lets out a cry, in the middle of the darkened road. In one second, I've got her, and she's breaking in my arms, limp as I snatch her and the cold, hard steel swishes inches away, it's red eyes fading in the torrential downpour.

Sobbing, she looks up at me, her hair plastered to her face; all of a sudden, she remembers, and becomes lucid. Abruptly, she tears herself away and walks back to the car unsteadily.

Soaked, we sit inside the leather silence.

I turn up the heat after taking one look at her shivering form; the rain plastered the thin, white undershirt to her lithe body. My mouth goes dry, but everything's different and difficult. I don't know what to say.....where is this, what is this and what's happening?

"Rory, I need to know what's going on! You need to talk right now or I'm heading right back to Hartford."

Mute, she sits in a clenched silence, cold eyes staring straight ahead. Only her trembling voice betrays her.

"Please don't. I can't go home right now."

"Did you have a fight with your mom?"

"No."

Sighing, I took one look at the tormented girl next to me, a silent tear creeping down her cheek like a diamond.

"It's Dean, isn't it." I asked, the words quietly slicing me as I even spoke them.

Silence. Then, a scary thing happened.

A tiny smirk spread across her face. A smirk that I recognized too quickly in myself, and felt a terrible horror at the sight of it overtaking her features.

"Too many questions, Tristan. I thought you'd be overjoyed at the fact I'm here with you making this request at this moment."

Numb, I watched her with open eyes.

"What do you mean?" I ask, carefully.

With clear eyes, she turns to me and smiles.

"I wanna go away. Can you take me?"

"Take you where?" I asked incredulously. "What about your mom?"

"Fine," she said cooly. "Take me home."

"Wait," I protested, suddenly feeling fire in my veins. "I'll take..you..."

"You will?" she asked, suddenly smiling at me, and my world opens before me. Her smile floods over me like a blessing......

We sit in silence for another second, and then awkwardly, I turn to her. 

"I want to know how to act. Am I supposed to be me or am I supposed to be sensitive?"

She giggled, and carelessly tossed her hair up in a bun with a pencil she found on my dashboard. Incredulous, I watched her, my mind formulating plans with no base...my heart pounding out the rhythm to them....

Numbly, I drove into the darkness of the night, that carefree and magic afternoon fading behind us with the slick darkness stretching ahead; awake, she lay there quietly letting the headlights of the passing cars wash her in pools of yellow and red. Shadows slipped over her face and in-between her lips, and I watched in the trembling darkness as she pulled out an ever present book and started to read.

Half an hour later, we're at an airport terminal, and she's holding my hand like a little kid, lost and mouth gaping, smiling at every new thing. I pull out my trusty visa card and get us two tickets on the next flight to New Orleans. We have a house there in the French Quarter; every aristocrat with a flair for the extravagant and senseless does. She settles into the seat, and suddenly I feel a terrible sense of wrongdoing. But as her head lands on my shoulder, all thoughts are erased as I breathe in the slight fragrance of her shampoo and feel her breathing close to me. Leaning my head against hers, I close my eyes and pretend that she loves me.

She's acting irrationally. She's made no lists, arranged no plans, had no worries, hasn't even called her mother.......there's something terribly wrong with Rory, and somehow through her desperation she chose me to help her in her own way. I don't know whether to feel as though I'm blessed, or as though I've been taken advantage of.......either way I don't care, and I sink into the slow blisfulness of sleep near her. Until one last nagging thought enters my mind.

Wearily, I stumble out into the aisle, and pull out my cellphone.

It rings...once....then, a frantic voice answers.

"Rory?" it asks, and I can read her anguish.

"Ms. Gilmore....this is Rory's friend Tristan....Look, I don't know how to explain this but...first, I need you to stop worrying. Rory's safe and well and sleeping like a baby. But other than that, I think there's something wrong."

Soft crying on the other end for a second, then quiet.

"Thank you Tristan, but explain quick before I get nervous again."

"She came up to me after school, which is weird because-"

"Because your other name in our household is Satan?"

Dumbfounded, but slightly smiling, I replied.

"Well, I didn't know all that but I was under the impression she didn't like me..."

"Under it? Must've been heavy, surprised it didn't crush you."

A little crestfallen, I still answered bravely.

"At any rate, she came up to me, got in my car, and told me to start driving. This is not Rory...but then...I didn't know what to do. I tried to ask if she wanted to go home...I guess it's partly my fault. I'm sorry. It's because...."

"You can't exactly say no, huh," replied her mom softly, and I can hear her understanding.

"You understand,.." I whisper, and hear a little laugh on the other end.

"She seems to be irrational, but very sane, just sad and uncaring...look, she meant to call you as soon as we got there but I figured it couldn't wait. I can't return her....I can't use force.."

I could hear the sigh on the line.

"Very well then....but I can't believe I'm handing my daughter to Satan. Does this make me a cult member?"

I laugh a little, and sigh.

"I'm that bad, huh."

"Right now, I'm under the impression that you're slightly different than pictured.."

"Let it be a heavy one," I answered.

"Please don't let anything happen. If something happens, and something covers everything, I will proceed to torture you with bamboo splinters and maim you, or send you to live with my mother, or maybe I'll be merciful and kill you."

"Sounds good, Ms. Gilmore," I grinned.

"That's Lorelai for you now."

"Lorelai."

"Good night Tristan. Don't lose the Visa."

"Yes'm" I said quietly, and snapped the phone shut.

Back in the plane seat, she fell against me, her innocent face slightly disturbed as she shifted in discomfort. Pulling up the armrest between us, I put a pillow against the wall and let her lay across me, and it was that way that I woke up to see her eyes, blue and fierce and quiet watching me in the pools of morning gold.

"Tristan?" she whispered, and my name sounded different coming from her mouth. Clean.

"Yes Mary?" I said subconsciously, and realized it when she sighed, scrunched up her face and attempted to sit up.

"Rory," I said immediately, and gently put my hand on her arm.

Slowly she sank back, and becoming aware of the slightly intimate position we'd slept in, blushed a little and shifted comfortably.

"See Mary, I told you you'd end up sleeping with me someday," I smirked, and she sat up for good that time. Dissapointed, but satisfied, I grinned, and buckled her in, then myself.

"I can do my own buckles," she said, looking at me like a rebellious five year old.

"Yes'm" I said submissively, and gripped the armrests as we felt the wheels touch down.

We stood outside in the warm, breezy late August weather, a little jetlagged and confused.

Calling a cab, I immediately gave the address to our little mansion in the French Quarter. 

"Off of Bourbon...left by the Old Absinthe...follow, ok now left past Andrew Jackson park...right on ..here we are."

We stepped off the curb, and I took in her, the surroundings...

It was warm outside, the sunlight warming us; a light breeze blew through the beautiful street, shadows dancing between leaves and sidewalks. The houses were old and stately, courtyards hung with long spanish moss and old trees, fountains behind the wrought iron bars; flowers bloomed in profusion over the delicate lacy iron balconies. A few leaves scattered on the freshly swept sidewalk, the old ancient wrought iron gates greeting us, ivy curling around them.

I punched in the dial security code, and waited for the butler.

She stood there in the thin wifebeater and plaid skirt, kneesocks and some black mary janes; her hair fall thick and messy around her face, her fabulous blue eyes looking around in lost wonder. She was slender, yet full, with wide hipbones and a proud back, her innocent features fresh and beautiful as the New Orleans morning. There was a current of excitement flowing deep underneath her, and she was beautiful in a way I'll remember even when I'm old and senile.

The doors opened instantly, and we stepped into the deserted courtyard, flowers blooming around us under the tree-shaded cement, a dry fountain in the middle of it; Slits of sunshine poured through the trees, setting little beams and fairies dancing on her face and her arms. She cautiously walked towards the heavy, carved French doors, jumping back startled when they suddenly opened.

"Ah, it's you," said Martin, our butler. Expressionlessly, he looked at Rory and went inside. Relieved, I took her hand hesitantly and walked into the house.

She looked down at our hands, and suddenly nervous, I let go. Her gaze seemed to say, what are you doing? Frustrated, I sighed and led her upstairs.

"You can have the green room. It's the guest room......shower, and my mom's got some clothes in there that would probably fit you. She's shaped kinda like you," I tell her, and scrutinize her.

"And how am I shaped?" she asks, slightly amused.

"Satisfactorily," I leer, and she quickly turns around and runs up the stairs. Chuckling to myself, I walk to my room and let a hot shower steam the plane ride away. Finding some boxers and a pair of jeans, I slip into them quickly, and I'm about to find a shirt when I see her.

She's just standing in my doorway, momentarily stunned; suddenly, she looks down and flushes, and I realize it's me she's unsure of. Enjoying the effect, I walk up to her, close enough to make her even more nervous.

"Something you needed?" I ask, purposely putting the touch in my voice I've learned how to use well.

Flustered, she looks up and starts babbling.

"Well you see, I took a shower, and it was a nice shower, that's not the problem, anyway, uh, so I found the towels, nice and fluffy by the way, but I didn't find the clothes, I was wondering....also ....what to do about..um.....undergarments? And, oh god, this is embarrasing..." she groaned, and I couldn't help smirking.

"Oh, so you're not wearing anything under your robe?" I whisper, and leer.

"Ok, that's it. If I have to pack food and set out on my own through this vast wilderness you call a house to find some clothing, so be it. Send a search party if I'm not back by lunch."

Determined, she marched away.

Laughing, I ran after her. Entering her room, I took a deep breath of the clean, steamy Rory scent drifting from the open bathroom door....

Opening the door to a closet, we stepped inside another smaller room, with huge bay windows that had green velvet curtains draped over them and tied back. Rory gasped.

The room was marvelous, but suddenly I saw it through her eyes and it seemed magic; maybe because she was in it. The walls were hung with clothes, dressers full of lingerie, a whole drawer of it completely new with the tags still on. My mom and dad hadn't been back in the house since last May....before things started going the way they went....

I shook the painful thoughts out of my mind and pointed her to everything.

I turned to go, when she hesitantly called.

I felt a small thrill run through my body..hesitantly wondering what she wanted,......imagining it was something I knew not to be.....

I could feel the proximity of her, the lean, golden legs pouring out of the satin robe that clung to her; she looked like a innocent girl....half fairy...half woman....

"Um, these are all dress clothes.....most of them anyway.....oh my God, that's a Gucci dress... and there's so much green stuff....."

Suddenly grinning, I turned around.

"How bout we make a deal? Paper scissors rock, whoever loses has to wear an article the other picks from this room...."

One eyebrow quirked, she suddenly laughed. 

"You're on."

And..... "Rock."

She'd lost.

The air in the room was thick with tension as she watched me carefully. Casually, I headed to the dresser... and pulled out a slinky piece of lingerie...a teddy...

Her eyes opened wide and horrified, and suddenly I regretted it.

"Just kidding," I smirked. "How bout this?"

Going to the back of the rack where I knew I'd seen the dress, I pulled it out.

"That's a evening dress, dumbass....."

"I don't care, I want to see you wear it."

She sighed, and rolled her eyes.

"Fine, turn around."

I turned, but even turned I still saw her in my head; half ashamed, half trembling, I waited...the air in the room crackled with electricity.....

"You can turn around," she said softly, and he did.

She stood there in her bare feet, the dress softly shining in the morning sunlight.

It was a simple cut, two thin straps that wound around her neck and a bodice, then, a knee length skirt that billowed out in soft tulle and taffeta, a magic, green dream of a dress that made her look like an afternoon princess; as she spun, the dress took wings like a butterfly, and floated out in a cloud, and she giggled as she stop.

"I feel like a big, dumb fluffy umbrella."

I had no words.

"C'mon, let's go."

"Like this?" she laughed, her eyes caught up in the sheer joy and unexpectedness of it.

"It's New Orleans, you'll be the least weird thing you'll see all day. Trust me. You look gorgeous," I added softly.

"How gorgeous?" she asked suddenly, taking a step closer to me. Reaching one hand out, she placed it on my bare chest over my heart, and I felt my skin prickle under her electric touch.

I've never been nervous. Girls don't make me nervous. They're shallow...gossiping...smoking cigarettes....wanting more and more.......

Except for her. She just wants me to tell her how gorgeous. And she's only a few feet from me....reaching out with a innocence and appeal I can't resist...

"I wouldn't know. You've skyrocketed off the gorgeous charts.....they've stopped even measuring you.." 

Giggling, she suddenly takes her hand away and starts going through the clothes.

"Either you're complimenting me or you're offering me a stockbroker's analysis...make up your mind..."

Pulling her by the arm, I drag her downstairs to breakfast.

Over beignets and coffee, I suddenly get serious.

"We've got to talk. Here's the deal. I'll let you stay here, but Sunday night we're going home to Stars Hollow, and to your mother and to Chilton. I don't know the reason you ran away, but I can't let you stay."

Her face suddenly crumbles, and she's like a little girl just curled up, feet bare in her make believe princess dress across from me at the breakfast table.

"It's Dean....and everything...."she whispers, and I bitterly understand.

"Things got too sad huh...." I answer, and look at her.

First friends...is the thought that flashes through my head.

What?

Suddenly, I'm angry. I've waited...waited for her to love me for so long...and now this? Why? 

But the truth is, I know that though was right. First friends. It's my job to take care of her for now. The future had yet to be written......

She slipped some greet satin flip flops on her feet, and we headed outside into the bright sunshine, getting lost in the crowds....her smile forever branding itself on my memory that day, the picture of the innocent beauty with the huge, azure eyes in the green taffeta dress that floated like wings around her slender legs....

Until that night we watched the dark oil water glimmering under the city's lights by the docks, the bridge in the distance......until that night....when.........

It's all happening in the next part! coming up soon, i'd love your opinions, flames, critique, whatever. sorry, i really took artistic license with the poor kids...


	3. slipping through the waters.

Here's the next part, and all the action you've been waiting for! from here, things only speed up, and let's say there's a lot planned for the few days ahead. lots of action coming up, stick around, this is just the beginning. like it? hate it? i'd sure like to know......

disclaimer, first page.

enjoy...

luce

Ch.3

The moon glistened thickly over the vast expanse of black water; across the bay, the bridge glittered in it's muted glory through the dark evening. The lights of the city trembled on the water, their reflection wavering with every breath of the breeze; on the rocks by the shore sat a half-girl half green butterfly, and a boy who watched the glimmering night silently.

She looked small and vulnerable, the green dress consuming her in a flame of cool, glistening passion; her legs dangled over the side of the rock, legs slightly open. Her hair had fallen down over her face and her half-bare shoulders, gently dancing in the breeze, and she stared into the dark, glistening depths as though watching another world below her.

Tristan sighed and leaned back on the rocks, watching her as she threw small pebbles into the water, and as she crawled over the wide, irregular boulders towards him. His mind raced with a million thoughts as she stretched out on the rock next to him, and they both lay on their backs and watched the velvet night sky.

"Hey look, there's Venus. And there's the milky way." she pointed out suddenly, and he followed her hand to the skies.

The moon drifted above them, wide and sad and silvery, casting silver shadows on her face. Her mouth looked sad, the corners drooping, and her huge blue eyes brimmed then receded indecisively. She was just full, full of everything and spilling over. The emotion hung in between them, shaky, and they didn't know what to do with it.

"Why did you leave?" he asked out of the blue, and she sighed.

"It just hurt so bad...I though love was supposed to be real...to last a long time...instead I lost a friend, somebody who knew me inside out. I watched Battle Bots with him for God's sake..." she said, the words unsteady. "Now, everywhere I go, it reminds me of stuff. Life at Chilton's not exactly easy for me, I think you know that. So I don't really have a place to escape...."

"What about your mom?" asked the boy quietly.

Rory sighed.

"She's the only reason I regret doing this. It's just that....things were falling into this rut. I woke up yesterday morning and all of a sudden I didn't care for a little bit. I just wanted to leave, to disappear for a second..."

"Why me? I was under the impression you hated me...?" he asked.

Sighing, she managed a rueful grin. "Cause you pulled up. Or maybe it was because I didn't know or even like you. I thought, here's adventure, got in the car, to find out I don't really regret the fact it was you. You know, you're alright when you're not you."

"Thanks, I think," he said sarcastically, and she stuck her tongue out in a childish gesture.

"Well, you are mean to me. Why should I like you?"

"Cause everybody likes me. Technically, you should be in love with me by now."

"And modest. Oh what more could I want. I guess that means you're having technical difficulties."

He grinned, and cocked an eyebrow.

"The DuGreys never fail, it's not in our vocabulary. I have a history to maintain."

"As what, official Chilton de-virginator?"

"Actually, most of them were devirginated before I hit high school."

"Poor Tristan. Now the saga continues; can he carry on his father's legacy? Must be a big burden to bear."

He smirked. "Remarkably less than you think. Truth be told, I'm not the sleazeball you think I am."

She grinned. "I know that's got to be a popular line."

Rolling his eyes, he poked her.

"Would it stun you if I told you I've only had about two real relationships?"

"Two! Oh my God, two whole ones? Is that a DuGrey record too?" she mock gasped.

"Fine, mock me. But I am human, even though I know you might be questioning my godhood..."

"The only thing I'm questioning is your sanity," she grinned.

A quiet moment ensued as they watched the glimmering lights.

"Actually, there's one more thing I'm questioning. Why did you do it?"

"Do what," replied the boy, knowing all too well.

"Come here with me." she said softly, knowing the answer.

"It looked like you needed help, I was afraid if I didn't take you who knows where you'd have gone." he answered, knowing he was lying.

"Since when the sudden concern?" she then asked, knowing already.

"Since always, that's me, sensitive's my middle name. Check my driver's license.." he said, knowing she knew instinctively.

Suddenly, that tiny smirk played upon her features, making him uneasy; the true Rory disappeared and a strange creature came out, mean and beautiful, reckless.

"Get up," she commanded, suddenly jumping to her feet. 

He followed blindly, confused, until he realized what was happening.

"Hell no! Rory, you're not thinking, it's too cold, the dress-"

The cold water swallowed his words as he felt himself being dragged under. She'd jumped, taking him down with her, and he felt her body slip and slid against him, knocking once or twice; the taffeta swished silky against his skin, and a warm part of her brushed him, soft and inviting. Tensing up, he felt the sudden desire flow through his veins at her unexpectedness, the madness and allure she extended over him, and he wanted her desperately.

Bursting through the surface, they bobbed still on the surface, their faces close together. The lights from the shore shone in the droplets on their faces, setting them afire like jewels; tentatively, she reached out and wiped his jaw, flinging the droplets like dying stars in the silvery darkness.

Unsure, hesitant, he reached out to her, pulling her through the water towards him. He felt her slight hesitation, and waited; on her own, she approached him, her body close and warm in the cool, black water.

The tiny smirk played upon her features, and her eyes glistened mean and electric blue.

"You love me, don't you. Tristan who doesn't love anybody ever loves. me."

Clenching his teeth, he stared her down. A fierce pain shot through him, thinking of her lips,...so close...how could she?

"Shut up." he whispered furiously in the close, warm darkness.

"Tristan and Rory, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G....you want to kiss me, don't you." she smirked, and flicked droplets into his face.

"Rory, I'm warning you,"

"First comes love, th-"

The kiss was full of painful desperation; he attacked her, his mouth crushing hers, and she fought back, her caresses violent. Off balance, they sank under the water, feeling the passion flame around their mouths in the cold liquid. Finally, desperate for breath, they burst to the surface, gasping; horrified, they looked at each other before the strange Rory disappeared and her face suddenly crumbled.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, and he gathered her in his arms. Crawling up on the rocks, drenched, they took one look at each other, and couldn't help a shaky laugh.

"It's ok, I'm sorry too." he said, and knew he really wasn't.

Looking down at her hands, she hung her head.

"It wasn't fair of me."

"Nothing's fair, Mary. Let's go home..."

They walked back through the streets, and had their fortunes read. Never mind people stared, an artist pulled Rory to the side and drew her, and they were requested to dance on a corner by someone who wanted to take a picture. Tristan grabbed Rory and spun her, and they did a jazzy little box-step on the sidewalk as people snapped pictures; her eyes glistening, her green dress drenched, her smile laughing at him, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Tiptoeing into the cold marble foyer, Rory shivered.

"Run and take a shower. I'll see you at breakfast?"

"Sure," she responded, and they raced upstairs to their rooms.

The night's events played over and over in Rory's head as she stepped into her room. Letting the towel fall, she slipped into some soft, small stretchy cotton shorts and an undershirt, throwing on a sweatshirt over the ensemble. Crawling into bed, she opened the long windows out to the balcony, and watched the curtains flutter eerily in the dark, warm breeze. Sounds of the laughter on the streets reached her faintly and she smelled the dizzy perfume of the gardenias and the lilacs; a few lost notes of music floated on the air......

Restless, she listened to them, unable to sleep.

In an hour, she finally got out of bed, walked down the hallway, pushing a gold-rimmed mahogany door open. Creeping inside the room like a ghost, she listened for the soft sound of breathing; pulled to it, she slowly approached the bed where Tristan slept fitfully.

Watching him for a few second, her face relaxed into a wan smile; he looked so innocent when he was sleeping, like such a little boy.....there was nothing little boy about his body though, she thought as she glanced out over the form under the thin sheets. He was tall, well built with the tight framework of an athlete, each muscle defined...his warm, soft skin stretched over it like velvet over steel..she drew in a sharp breath as he turned, murmured something in his sleep restlessly. Suddenly, she wanted him; the thought assaulted her senses giving her no time to react. Stunned at the sudden unexpected feeling, and ashamed at the confession of guilt she'd extracted from him just hours ago, knowing that he needed her....it was too much to take and she stepped a little closer. He looks like a jaguar, she though; a lean, muscled feline, tense and ready to spring, dangerous.......each move smooth with the ripple of muscles like a current under the water.....the way he stands, even the way he looks. 

Rory slipped next to him with a easy grace; in one swift movement, she'd slipped her legs under the covers and slid in next to him. Her soft curves and contours molded along to his angles in a intricate puzzle, and she melted into it. His first subconscious reaction was to snuggle into her, burying his head in the curve of her neck. Sighing, she allowed him to sleep, watching him and sensing his heartbeat, until her eyelids closed. 

The morning sunlight broke over the city in it's fresh, blinding beauty; but when he opened his eyes, all he saw was her, and for a second he might have believed he'd died and was in heaven.

OOOH! what now! let's just say next chapter takes a wild and unexpected turn.....let your imagination roam...till next time, luce


	4. mistakes and consequences.

ok, here it is, the long awaited......cliffhanger......heating up, getting faster, this one should leave you satisfied, read on and lemme know.

disclaimer.

mistakes.

Barely daring to breathe, afraid he might awaken her, he studied the innocent and girlish curves of her face as she slept fitfully; tormented by unknown airy dreams, she breathed out silently the remains of a dream-caught phrase that escaped him. Moving closer, he was suddenly startled to see her blue eyes suddenly swing wide open, watching him with a still curiosity. Silently and awkwardly, they stared for an electric second. The sunshine floated still on the morning air, mockingbirds chirping and chattering outside, making the silence a background for their unspoken words.

"Were we drunk last night? Or would you refresh my memory on why you're sleeping in my bed?" the boy cautiously asked.

Embarrassed, the girl suddenly sat up, her slim, girlish shoulders gleaming in the morning light.

"I,..I was, cold, couldn't sleep; yeah, couldn't sleep and anyway, I kept thinking how insomniacs are unhappy people and I wanted to make today a good day since you spent all this money to come out here and it's my fault, so I thought sleep would help. Plus, I was cold too and if I died of frostbite my mom would kill you and...." her voice trailed off at his amused expression.

"Excuses, Mary, I think you just want to sleep with me."

The words sounded wrong before they even left his mouth but he'd forgotten to be careful; he cringed at her bewildered than frustrated expression, and her furious blush. She instantly slid out of bed, swinging her long legs over the side, and out of impulse the boy reached out.

"Rory, don't go," he said quietly, and the unknown force that had compelled her here in the first place held her stationary for one more moment. Hesitantly, she stepped back.

Tristan stepped out of bed, yawning and stretching, a prospect the girl seemed to find disquieting. Maybe it was the lean length of his torso or the layers of hardened muscle wound tightly to bone on his lean frame. He tested his back gingerly, and then groaned as it cracked, and she turned her head to the side. Amused, he watched her reaction, enjoying the effect.

"Climb in," he commanded, and Rory did, giggling as she bounced on the huge mattress and cuddled under the fluffy down comforter. Without Tristan, the bed was comfortable and benign, not frightening at all. 

"What're you doing?" she asked curiously, watching as he slipped a hand through his hair and headed for the door.

"Wait'n see," he smiled, and disappeared.

Rory took time to enjoy the morning sun, and felt a little thrill at snuggling down into the lingering warmth Tristan had left on his side. His pillow smelled faintly of a soft cologne and fresh shower scent, warm and boyish and clean; contented, she cuddled into it, and felt shocked at the realization that she liked it.

It wasn't Dean, was the thought that sprung to her mind next, but the whole ridiculousness of the situation made no sense to start with; she'd slept with the enemy. Well, not technically, but still......angered at the irrational behavior her sorrow had pushed her into, she resolved to stop making bad decisions because of Dean. Sure, it hurt. And sure, she'd picked this poor bastard out of nowhere and decided to play on his affections because she needed to escape. That was it, right? That could be forgivable, couldn't it?

But could falling for the enemy?

The thought was like a sharp, frozen slap across her face; silently, she sat up, heart racing, contemplating this terrible thought.

Had she run away with Tristan because he was a convenient escape from Dean?

Or was picking Tristan more intentional than she had thought?

The warmth of the sunbeams on her shoulders and the faint scent from the pillow seemed to give this last thought more credibility than Rory would hand it. Frustrated and afraid, the girl sank back onto the pillows.

Hearing the door rattle, she peeked out from the huge covers, and the view made a long smile stretch on her face.

Tristan had pushed a tea cart though the door, delicate china covers and silverware on it; a delicious smell emanated from under the porcelain.

"What're you doing?" she squealed in delight.

"Serving yo' ass breakfast in bed, m'lady," he grinned, and pushed the food next to her.

Guiltily she looked at the food on the platters, and then up at him.

"Don't you want to share?" she said dubiously.

He laughed.

"Jesus Rory, do you think I expected you to eat all that by yourself?"

The two fell to eating and joking around, contemplating the age old question.

"I'm telling you, the chicken came before the egg."

"Sorry, my egg came before my chicken. Would you like some sauce on yours?"

"Nah, but coffee would be nice."

"Here ya go," he grinned, and poured her a steaming cupful.

"Mm, I like you now." she grinned and breathed in the aroma.

"As in, you didn't like me before?"

"We referred to you as Evil Tristan. What do you think?" she replied sarcastically. "You seem to be converting nicely. How is hell, by the way?"

"A cross of Paris with finals with cold coffee, and a touch of you." he grimaced.

"Hey," she pouted. "I don't give you reason to dislike me."

"Like you didn't last night?" he said quietly, and a slight pallor brushed her cheek.

"I'm sorry" said Rory, looking into her coffee. Tristan sighed and pushed the food cart outside, and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Suddenly Rory sprang up and followed him into the bathroom determinedly. Swallowing hard and ignoring the fact that he was now shirtless, she joined him at the sink. Rifling through the drawers, she found a toothbrush still in the package. Breaking it out, she squeezed some toothpaste and began brushing.

Silently, the two brushed, all the while examining each other from the corner of their eyes; Rory struggled not to stare at the lean, muscled body beside her, his frame tight and slouched like a jungle cat's. His downy hair was tousled, and his eyes still held traces of sleepiness, but he was unassuming.

He followed the graceful curves of her body openly, aware of her uncomfortable stance and amused at her timidity. His eyes ran the length of her unashamed, and instinctively she crossed a hand over her stomach and focused on the sink.

He spit and rinsed, smiling at himself in the mirror; she did likewise, unabashed and unembarrashed, and the two examined their pearly whites.

"I think we should be on a Crest commercial," she grinned, earlier discomfort forgotten.

"How's my breath? Minty fresh?" he smiled, blowing a tiny breeze on her face.

"Mmm" she inhaled. "Like a York Peppermint patty. I have that sensation-"

"Cut it out," he elbowed, and she giggled. "Nice of you to accompany me in my toothbrushing this morning. Is this buddy day? Cause if you're trying to set a trend, a shower's up next.." he leered.

Scrunching up her nose in disgust, she scowled at him.

"You're vile."

"And you're strange. Have I ever told you?" he replied.

"Countless times," she snorted. "As though the sheer truth of it might make your strangeness seem less."

"Oh now I'm strange. I don't recall dragging a person I barely know to another city impromptu." he grinned.

"Yeah, but you followed, didn't you?" she smiled innocently, and skipped out of the bathroom. 

Alone, Tristan stared in the mirror.

"My best mistake," he said to his toothbrush.

Or my worst mistake, he contemplated as he stepped out of the shower. Drying his hair with a towel and a few seconds with the blow-dryer, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out into his room.

Mistake.

She was leaning the window innocently, staring at the scenery below; a colorful vista on the quiet New Orleans street greeted her, and the jazz player on the corner serenaded her smile.

Mistake.

Walking up as casually and quietly as possible, meaning to join her and startle her, maybe to scare her and get a little rise out of her. It was amusing watching her awkwardness sometimes.

Watching the way she stood on her tiptoes to lean out further, the slender curves of her legs to her thighs rounding out under the swingy, thin green skirt and the cream colored peasant blouse slightly raising to reveal a this strip of smooth skin on her back. Her shoulders peeked out from the embroidered cloth, her brown hair luxuriantly slipping around her head like mahogany waterfalls.

Mistake.

Reaching out and touching her, a tiny, soft touch that sent a jolt of electricity through both of them, causing her to spin around; her eyes went wide and frozen, and her fingers trembled.

Suddenly feeling lost as though his game was completely forgotten, Tristan watched her intently, trying to gather his wits.

"I'm sorry, I'll get out, I just wanted to know if it was ok to borrow this shirt and I thought you were already changed, I'll just leave right now....." she stammered, but with one last desperate effort, he managed to unfreeze.

"Whatcha lookin at?" he asked casually, leaning over the window's edge.

Incredulous, she watched him, confused at the lack of tenseness he was displaying.

"You know if you stand like that in the window, people will think you're wearing nothing." she remarked dryly, finding her voice.

"Must not reflect too good on you, standing next to me," he smirked, and she suddenly backed away.

Small avalanches of chills ran down her arms and into her stomach, and she tried to look away but it was no use. She'd been caught. Her glance wandered over every inch of him, sending him reeling; she licked her dry lips unconsciously as she swallowed hollowly, her eyes' unbidden glance caressing him unknowingly. There was an innocence, a freshness to her wondering discovery as she studied him, a sense of newness and experimentation as she cocked her head to one side, letting her gaze travel over the well defined body before her, the muscle moving like a current deep under the surface of a river. His hardened curves stood there hesitantly as her eyes touched him, and in a sense he felt guilty.

Breaking the stare, Rory flushed, and backed away, trying to get past, but there was a hollow need inside him that could not allow her to .

Slowly, he backed her up against the wall, inch by inch, until his warm, damp and still slightly scented frame overpowered hers; he did not touch her, but held her there under the magic spell of his closeness, feeling her tremble under the power he held over her.

He put his arms against the wall on either side of her, and looking down on her flushed face and trembling lips, lost for a moment, he whispered.

"Let me kiss you." and the phrase was a statement, a question, an order and a plea in one; she found herself frozen under his words, the way they came unsteady from his mouth, and the pain that they were uttered with.

"Why?" she managed, dizzy from the proximity of his warm body, buy still managing to question.

Tristan bit his lip and closed his eyes, and pain was etched on his features along with the longing that burned deep and hard under the surface.

"Because it hurts not to," he responded, his voice broken; and forgetting her next words in a dizzying moment she flung reason aside and grabbed his face in her hands, crushing her lips to his hard. The kiss was full of pain and beauty, their mouths finding their resonance against each other, echoes of the soft, breathless murmurs that left her knees weak. His lip were seeking, warm and soft, firm and tender. Her body rebelling and forgetting, she let her tongue slide under his upper lip, softly pleading entry, and he allowed her mouth to capture his and hold it hostage, the fires of long sought passion flowing under their veins and maddening them both.

A tiny moan broke from her throat as he gently slid his fingers over her ribs, tracing the soft concave of her stomach, then down to her hips as he guided them towards his. Her hands wanted to know the contours of him, and they traveled over the gold expanse of velvet skin on his back and shoulders, and over the curve of each tightened muscle. She let out small pleased sounds at the discovery of the steel under the velvet skin as he tensed up, his chest plates hardening. Breathless, she traced them, eliciting a soft gasp from Tristan as he realized he was slowly getting too far.

Suddenly unbelieving and shocked, Rory broke away; her mind seemed to instantly kick in again, and the shock of what she'd just done registered. Without another word, she turned and fled from the room, and he was left standing there, suddenly cold.

Quickly, he dropped the towel and slipped on boxers and jeans, then an undershirt. His mind rapidly worked on a million apologies which died on his lips the instant he felt her small, innocent hands tracing the tightly wound muscles of his arms, flowing over each contour, admiring each swell and rise and fall with her fingertips.....GOD! there had to be some way to repent!

Hurrying to her room, he knocked on her door, and got no answer. 

"Rory, you have got to let me in."

Knocking again, suddenly he had a chilling realization.

"Rory open the door!"

Waiting another minute, the viciously twisted the lock, breaking it, and dashed into the room.

The open window curtain fluttered softly in the breeze, and he walked out on the balcony.

She was gone.


	5. .......in a boy's dream.....

Here it is! Sorry it took so long, but this is worth is. This part is packed with not only steam but action, not to mention getting sweet........enjoy it to the max, but remember.....things are always bound to change...

Rory was running.

She fled through the cracked pavement streets, between the happy throngs of people, into the markets, in and out of alleys and boutiques; her staggered breath told her she couldn't keep running much longer. Her guilty conscience punished her and pushed her to run further.

Tears streaming down her face and sniffling she raced down the avenues, through the roads, and over the streets. Coming face to face with an old church, out of desperation she ran inside. Slumping on a hard pew, she let a wail of anguish out, sobbing all her bitterness into the quiet air.

The church was empty, quiet, and candlelit; golden, beautiful painted frescoes of jesus and the saints adorned the walls, the wood of the pews rich in time and in carvings. After she'd cried herself sick, she drew a few ragged breaths and set to wandering down the aisle as though she could find redemption closer to the altar.

"What is troubling you, my child?" came a quiet voice out of nowhere.

Stunned and frightened, she spun around, frantically looking for the source. The voice chuckled.

"Don't be afraid, it's just an old priest in the confessional. Tell me, are you alright?"

Relieved, Rory let out a small sob that was held in her throat.

"I'm fine," she lied through gritted teeth, the lie sounding pathetic even to her own ears.

It was quiet for a moment, and then the voice came out, reverent and respectful.

"As you wish. Just remember, Jesus knows your sorrow."

In the midst of her pain, Rory's sarcasm couldn't help kicking in.

"I doubt he's ever been where I was this morning." she said bitterly, the memory of the fresh shower scent nauseating her, and sending her reeling with shivers again.

"He was on a cross to die for you," came the calm, old voice.

Rory hesitantly approached the booth that held the nameless voice, feeling oddly comforted by it. Sitting inside and pulling the curtain closed, her fingers traced the heavy carvings of the booth in sad wonderment.

"I know I'm not Catholic, but is it okay if I confess anyway?" she managed, and waited for the answer.

She was met with a chuckle.

"That's why we're here, my child."

"Well, you see," spilled Rory out in a half-sob half ramble. "I didn't mean to it just hurt so bad you know, he was the first person I ever kissed and I thought we'd get married or something, and when we broke up it felt so bad! and then I go to this terrible school and Tristan never gets dumped ok, but we didn't kiss intentionally. It made things all horrible and I missed Dean so much and when Tristan drove up I just wanted to go away away from everything....and I feel so horrible cause I'm not supposed to kiss Tristan, I feel so low, I was crying about Dean last night and look at me now, am I psycho or schizo or something? Or am I just easy?"

The old man took a moment to take it all in, used to years of such rending, breathlessly spilled confessions from the broken hearts of pained believers and unbelievers alike. He felt her raw anguish through the thin wall that separated them......

"Why did you kiss Tristan?" the old man asked carefully.

Sitting in the silence of the booth, Rory carefully formulated lies until she realized where she was, and the pointlessness of what she was doing.

Sighing, she hung her head.

"Cause I wanted to. It drove me insane, but it was just for a moment...I wasn't thinking....." she guiltily admitted, feeling the fresh taste of his mouth on hers all over again, and with it, a fresh wave of guilt.

"Why do you feel guilty?" asked the voice gently. "Did you break a promise to Dean? Does he still love you?"

This only set Rory off again for a few more minutes, and when she quieted down, she answered honestly.

"I don't know," she whispered, defeated.

"Maybe it's time to let the past go, uproot the weed and let the new flower blossom...." said the voice thoughtfully, Rory's expression incredulous. "You don't seem to have a real reason to repent."

"I repent for using someone," said Rory firmly, determined to be blamed for at least one thing.

"Were you using him?" laughed the voice. "Or did he want to go?"

The answer sent Rory reeling. Her heart palpitated in her chest as she considered the new angle carefully.

"So I'm not guilty of anything?" she asked, hopefully yet sadly.

"You're guilty of feeling," said the voice kindly. "Some would say that it's not a crime."

"But I love Dean," said Rory hopelessly.

"That my dear," said the voice amused, " is something you need couch time for, not booth time. Now get out of here, you aren't guilty. Except of maybe being stubborn and overemotional. And for that, you have complete forgiveness. Remember to put money in the offering plate, donate to charity and pray. G'bye now." 

Feeling lighter all of a sudden, Rory giggled.

"Thank you," she said, her voice more serious.

"Teenagers," muttered the voice back good naturedly.

Wandering out of the church, Rory contemplated the new spin on the situation. Sadness and a little bit of guilt were still present, and she decided she needed time alone to get over both. Wandering the streets all day, in the evening, she decided to go home.

Passing the same street twice after an hour, she realized incredulously, that she couldn't. She was lost.

Tristan had searched all day, combing the small stores and bars, asking anyone and everyone if they'd seen a girl with brown hair in a green skirt. Exhausted, by three he contemplated calling the police. Knowing the millions of hidden corners of New Orleans, he realized how futile it would be. He had a better chance, knowing the places she might be, so he set out again. At six, the sun started hanging low over the buildings, shining fiercely in it's last dying throes; by seven, twilight had set.

He was raw and ragged with emotion, thoroughly tortured with the images of what had happened this morning. He had overstepped the bounds of their precocious friendship, setting her for a hard fall; but every time he remembered her fingertips like butterfly kissed on his back, he had a hard time being sorry. Throat dry and eyes slightly bloodshot, he headed down Bourbon, hoping to find something to drink. Not only was he thoroughly depressed, but he was angry with himself. Funny, he thought bitterly. For someone who's dated half a school, he sure couldn't keep tabs on this one girl. But it had descended beyond even that. Now it was just pure, unadulterated pain and emotion that left him feeling as though he'd scrubbed his heart with Brillo pads. 

Hair tousled and messy, the thin undershirt clinging to his hard body, jeans riding low on his hips and securely buckled, he walked into a tiny open store.

"Package of Black&Milds," he spoke, and his voice was brittle with nerves.

The cashier eyed him lustfully, her hairsprayed hairdo rising with the rise of her eyebrows. Her wrinkled face fell into a pathetic attempt at a suggestive pout.

"Here you go," she purred, not even asking for ID. Not uncommon, Tristan's face was his ID for anything. "Nothing else you'd like?" she asked suggestively, tapping her fake nails on the counter.

"No," he said simply and walked out leaving her staring.

Bad idea, Rory, she screamed at herself as she hunched down in a corner of the blues joint, trying to be invisible. Couldn't you have sat in a coffee shop or something?

The place was packed and bustling, a constant tide of comers and goers flowing through it; listening to the jazz band relaxed her a little, but she was still slightly panicked by the fact that she was completely and utterly lost.

"Hey baby," came a voice from behind. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Trying hard to ignore the suggestive tones and leering looks, she stared hard at her glass of ice water.

The man would not go away; she felt a flash of fear when his friend joined him.

"C'mon baby, one little drink. Southern Comfort or something," the gritty voice continued.

"No thanks," she muttered, and slouched trying to look anywhere but at them.

His friend's voice was oily, cool and dangerous.

"Hey little girl, why you not lettin' him buy you one? He's nice, he treat you right good...maybe you underage or somethin?"

The men were obviously drunk, and she stood up to try to make a quick getaway. The two heavy bodies that reeked of alcohol were in front of her in a flash.

"Not that easy, babe. We tryin' to talk to you, you disrespecting. Bad things happen to little girls that don't listen to what their elders tell em."

Frightened out of her mind and disgusted, she shrank back against the wall as they crowded in close, and their breath stung her eyes.

"Please....Let me go...." she whispered weakly, terror flashing inside her, making her incoherent.

The oily one grinned and slowly reached out, and just when she thought for certain she would vomit she heard another voice.

"Step back or you're gonna get hurt."

The voice sent chills slipping up and down her spine, a voice that she'd never been more glad to hear in her life. She drew frantic breaths of air.

The men leered at her, and then turned back to the figure behind them.

"Says who? The pretty boy behind us?" grinned one of them drunkly.

Tristan's fist shot out instantly; the connection to the man's face sent him reeling, knocking over a table. Customers screamed, a few rushing out, others staying to watch.

Tristan's muscles rippled effortlessly as he slung the other man to the wall, dodging a well aimed blow. Preoccupied with trying to knock him back, he didn't notice the other man rising, blood pouring from his face.

Rory watched in speechless horror as the man broke a vodka bottle on the floor, holding the neck of it, the sharp jagged edge out as he approached Tristan from the back. Across the bar, the bartender suddenly came to attention, but it would've been too late.

A strangled scream escaped Rory's mouth, her eyes open wide, reflecting the darkness and neon; Tristan turned around in a flash to reaffirm her safety.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was sub-human, but with a speed he did not know he possessed, Tristan dodged the blow aimed for his heart, the bottle scraping his arm instead; maddened by rage, he grabbed the man's throat and flung him into some chairs to join his friend already on the floor. The band had kept playing, the people watching, a maddening fury of sound and alcohol and noise and terror. Grabbing Rory's hand, they fled to the sporadic claps of the spectators. Once outside on the sidewalks, the two ran a few streets, and stopped in a corner to catch their breaths.

Under the streetlight, he looked older and more tired; or so she noticed. Fire coursed in her veins mingled with pain as she took in his figure, the way the clothes clung to him, the hard angle of his jaw and the firmness of his mouth and nose. His handsome features looked tired and worn in the orange glow, and he lighted up a cigarette that he put in his mouth.

Overwhelmed by emotion, the two just faced each other.

He didn't know whether to hug her or keep a distance; be angry or be joyful at finding her, be sad or be happy, touch her or not.

She didn't know whether he was mad, or glad, she knew he was in pain as the saw the red liquid seeping through his white shirt; she wanted to apologize. An infinite number of tears hovered behind her eyelids.

"Thank you," she said, and her voice was a stranger's.

"You're welcome." he said, taking a log drag and spitting it out into the night air.

Trembling and rueful, she looked at him, her gaze wavering.

"I'm sorry," she rushed out, fearing his reaction.

"It's alright," he responded again in monotone, and she felt pain at the replies.

You put him through torture all of today, said the voice in her head ruefully as they climbed into a cab. You didn't deserve him. 

I know, she almost cried out loud. But he shouldn't have done what he did.

He didn't, replied the inner voice. You kissed him.

Shocked, her mouth opened in an O, leaving her speechless.

What have I done?

Pulling her wet hair back into a loose bun, she slipped into some cotton flannel pajamas with tiny flowers on them, the warm, soft fabric comforting her. She was only slightly aware of the fact that they clung to her in a slightly less than innocent way, she threw on a white stretch spaghetti strap, and threw herself on the bed, rehearsing lines.

"I'm sorry that I..."

Nah, that just sounded retarded.

"Look, I didn't mean to...."

excuses.

God! How hard could this be! Muttering to herself, she started down the hallway, the lenght of the pajama bottoms muffling her footsteps as they softly folded under her feet. Padding down to his room, she cautiously knocked on the door.

"Come in," was the quiet answer, and not seeing him around, she crept to the bathroom door.

Standing in front of the sink, he carefully and awkwardly tried to unstick the shirt from where the blood had dried. Standing there in his bare feet and the baggy blue jeans, he looked a little more like a kid, instead of the powerful, unknown man she had been in the bar. She'd been scared at the power he wielded, crouching in her corner as he ruthlessly slammed his fists into faces. It was obvious it was something he was good at, a fact that she did not want to probe into much further. There was something about it that made her mouth a little dry, she couldn't deny it was every girl's fantasy to be saved, to have someone fight for her. And Tristan had more than fulfilled; he'd done it with a fierceness and passion that sparked an unknown feeling inside her.

Hesitantly approaching, she racked her mind desperately for something to say.

"Let me help you," she blurted, wanting desperately to atone.

Perhaps he knew this, or perhaps he just needed help. Looking at her once, he consented, sitting down on the edge of the jacuzzi tub.

Grabbing a towel, storming through the drawers for some gauze, alcohol, ointment and tape she expertly lined everything up and ran the hot water in the sink. Soaking the towel, she began dabbing at the dried blood to release the shirt from the wound.

Silently, she worked, and he stared at the cabinet. The water from the towel ran down his shirt, soaking through the thin material; each fiber of the fabric clung to the toned, tight framework underneath, the build of an athlete. It was obvious he'd spent time perfecting what nature had already blessed him with. Rory was not complaining.

"You're gonna have to take your shirt off," she said quickly, trying to ignore the words herself. "I have to bandage you up."

"Trying to strip me now?" he answered quietly, and her head snapped up.

His face was much softer, a forgiving look in his eyes; yet, she could not miss the pain behind them. I'm sorry! she wanted to cry out, but somehow, she had a feeling he knew. His mouth managed a tiny smirk, and relieved she wanted to throw her arms around him. She'd been afraid; afraid of never seeing that infuriating expression again......

"Well, what can I say? Can't exactly deny it......bet you're dying to get back to Chilton and tell this to your friends." said Rory ruefully.

He chuckled. 

"I doubt they'd believe me. I could dance, if it would make this more fun for you."

"Just get the damn shirt off." she snapped blithely, and he saw the relief and amusement in her face.

Raising his arms to slip it off, he suddenly let out a muffled groan and dropped them immediately. She could see from the pained expression on his face this wasn't gonna work.

"Sorry, everytime I lift my arm it kills me, I think it tore a little deep. Run to the cabinet on the wall above the bed and grab me a bottle of rum."

She frowned, but obeyed, returning with some Bacardi O.

"I don't approve of drinking." she said, looking at it doubtfully.

"Then enlighten me as to why you were in a bar." he replied, taking a long drag. Shaking his head to kill that first sting, he let a gasp of air out. He cracked his knuckles, making her giggle. 

"I think we're ready now." Tristan said, raising his hands once more, only to let out another short cry hidden in the back of his throat.

"Alright, stop being macho and let me help you. We'll take the other arm out first, slip it over your head, and then just slide it off the hurt arm. Ok?"

"Yes commander," he winced, and prepared himself for the sharp pain.

But he didn't prepare himself for the effect that her nearness had on him, or the way his body responded to her touch; she stood right in front of him, leaning over him, her glowing, sun-kissed shoulders barely inches away. Her fingertips left goosebumps over the skin they touched, and he felt what she was doing was almost sacred. Slowly, she helped him slide one arm out, gently lifting the rest of the shirt off his body. She pulled his head through it, tousling his hair, and then carefully took his injured arm out.

They stood there for a second, unsure of what they felt over what had just happened. She'd let her gaze travel slowly over each inch of his body that she exposed when she'd slid the shirt off, and she felt shy all of a sudden and the unexpected twinge in her lower back as his body had come into sight slowly.

"You know, I'd always hoped that when you'd undress me it might be because of something other than dire necessity," he deadpanned, loving the sudden blush that flooded her face and the tenseness that swept over her body. Tristan was getting even.

"I think you should be grateful enough not to do this right now." she muttered, dropping his shirt on the floor.

"Do what?" he replied innocently. "Using only a huge slash in my chest and shoulder as an excuse to make you touch me? If I had known that's what it would take I would've attacked myself with a bottle long ago."

Rolling her eyes, Rory grabbed the antiseptic and poured it on some gauze.

"Sometimes I can't believe you. Here you are bleeding in a bathroom floor and you're still at it."

"At what?" grinned Tristan.

"Your outrageous, absolutely inappropriate flirtatious behavior," snapped Rory.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" he leered, and she glared, shaken.

"Yes." she said firmly.

"Good," he smirked. "I like sexual tension."

Rolling her eyes, Rory gave up.

"Take a drink of what you're holding and take off your belt."

"Wow Rory, the fantasy gets better and better. Are you sure I'm not dreaming? Cause I swear we've done this before...."

"I don't want to know," she said, blushing furiously. He complied, grinning ear to ear.

"Now stick it in your mouth." she ordered, holding up the gauze pad.

He raised one eyebrow. "Well this is not normally how it goes in my dreams, but whatever. Why?"

"Just do it," she said, and shoved in in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, she plastered the gauze over his wound and pressed it in. A soundless cry of pain racked his body as it shook for a second, his face gripped in pain; he bit down hard on the leather but didn't cry out.

"Good job, trooper, way to be a big boy and not cry," she quipped, and removed the gauze quick.

The belt dropped from his mouth, and he rubbed his jaw. Quickly, he took a few more drinks, his eyes watering from both the pain and the Bacardi.

"Whoo, that was good. Let's do it again. What the hell was that?" he moaned softly, a sound that send a flutter in her stomach.

"Antiseptic. Iodine, alcohol, whatever, it kills germs." she said, and leaned in close to examine the wound.

Bending his head down to look at her, he quietly realized her face was inches from his as she bend over his chest and arm to examine the gash that spread from the edge of his left breastplate to across the tight swell and rise of his well defined biceps and deltoids. Gently, he flexed to test his arm, and groaned at the sharp pain. He could see her slight discomfort at being so close, but he didn't miss the tiny pleased look that flashed in her eyes when his muscles had tightly contracted. Smirking, he looked at the top of her head.

"Kiss it and make it better." he ordered, a lazy grin twisting his mouth.

"Do I look like your mother?" she said sarcastically and went back to her supplies.

"I wouldn't know, I haven't seen her in a year," Tristan said softly in an attempt at humor, but the sadness underlying it was obvious.

Slowly she turned around towards him, and he saw the soft glow in her eyes that said so many things. Friendship, maybe some pity, sadness, guilt. And hidden behind them all, he saw a tiny spark of what he wanted to see. Love.

Sadly, Rory reached out and cradled his clean-cut jaw in her hand, her fingers slowly spreading on his cheek; instinctively, he leaned into it, craving the comforting touch, never breaking eye contact.

She slowly bent down and kissed the edge of the wound, sending a shiver through the tensed muscles of his chest that he felt all the way down to his abs. The tiny, damp, soft touch of her lips shook him....

"Better?" she said a little absently, as if though the experience had drained her completely, but he did not miss the tremor of her hand as she quickly took it away.

Applying gauze and tape as quickly and gently as she could, she stood back to admire her work. He looked down at it gratefully, and then at her. Taking a few more drags of the rum, he went and brushed his teeth awkwardly with his left hand. She joined him quietly, and he could almost see the turmoil in her head through her silence.

They walked back into the dimly lighted room, and he sat down on the bed, flopping backwards to stare at the ceiling. Rory joined him in a minute, and the two studied the plaster artwork intently.

"Are we going to talk?" she asked after a little while, and words strangely hurt.

"About what?" he said, playing dumb for a second.

"About the fact that we kissed and I jumped out a window and you got in a fight in a bar to find me and then I cleaned you up. Do you consider any of these topics to hold some importance?" she asked, a little frustrated.

He fixed his eyes on the ceiling, refusing to look at the girl next to him.

"It's over and done with. I'm sorry for making advances you didn't want, I'm sorry for scaring you, ....and I'm sorry for not being Dean."

The words were stunning to Rory; they both sat there for a full minute, just trying to digest them. Their hearts pounded strangely at the sudden shocking honesty of the answer.

"And I'm sorry for kissing you, running out, putting you through today and getting you slashed up. I'm sorry for using you to get away, and I'm sorry for being an idiot." she said, swallowing hard, knowing that she had not told the whole truth.

"I'm sorry for not being true," she let the words suddenly rush out, quiet and trusting. "I'm sorry for not being honest with you, for not being a friend when you were so good to me; I'm sorry for causing you pain, don't pretend I didn't. And I'm sorry that I don't know my own mind."

Tristan felt a strange twinge at that last comment, a sudden skip of a heartbeat.

"I'll forgive you, but only when you know your own mind." Tristan said suddenly, and heard her sharp intake of air.

"Not fair," she whispered, and he knew it wasn't. 

They lay in silence for a while, and she rubbed her temples in frustration and sadness.

"It's all or nothing with you, isn't it." she said ruefully, and he felt guilty at her words.

"I can't help it. You know how I feel about you." Tristan replied, scared at his own honesty.

She felt her heart race, his nearness suddenly intoxicating.

"And how might that be?" she asked softly, and turned her head to face him.

He locked his gaze onto hers, turning out the small bedside lamp, leaving the room in the shadows of a pale, blue darkness. All he could see was the glistening of her eyes, and the tiny jump Rory gave at the sudden dark.

"Why'd you do that?" she asked quickly, raising her head.

His gentle hand on her arm stopped her, and she softly dropped it back down on the bed, looking at him again.

"I like talking in the dark better, it's easier," he explained. Or maybe it just hurts to look at you right now, Rory, he thought bitterly.

"You know me. I'm hardly sensitive. I'm barely good, and I'm not innocent or pure or perfect. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you in the lowest, worst way possible. I'm Tristan, and I can't change and become sweet and sensitive overnight. It's taken me a lifetime to turn out this way. It's a battleground; get tough or be smashed. Of course, you wouldn't know. You come from this sweet loving little family thing."

Taking a deep breath, he turned his head and locked her gaze in the blue darkness.

"But when it feels like you feel something back even for a second, the everything just seems different. I don't know how to express it and I'm no writer, but, ......you make me feel happy. I can't help it, I just want to be with you. Wherever you are and whatever you're doing. And that's what I feel."

An avalanche of chills ran down her spine at the honesty and sadness of his words.

Scooting in closer, she laid her head on his shoulder. The innocent gesture caused a twinge of pain in Tristan's heart. He didn't know what she'd say, how she'd respond.

"Thank you," she answered simply, and placed a small kiss on his shoulder. The gesture was so tender, so innocent, so Rory that he felt a flood of warmth through him. The words melted his resistance, and he felt the pain slowly being replaced by the warmth and support she'd given him.

"Am I forgiven?" she asked lightly, resting her head back into the curve of his neck and shoulder as they both stared at the ceiling, laying on their backs.

"For now," he murmured, and felt tiredness wash over him. "It's good enough for now."

They laid like that for a little while longer, just linked together in the warmth and promise of their new friendship, a friendship that held a hidden passion he knew would surface. She was hardly immune to him, and he was already far gone for her....

"Asleep yet?" he chuckled softly, and got a small, tired sound in reply.

"Sing me a lullaby and put me to sleep....." she said softly, a trace of amusement in her voice, but suddenly he knew what he wanted to sing.

His voice came out in a smooth, mellow near-whisper, the bare vulnerability of it sending a chord of trembling through her; she felt herself drifting already, the words barely floating in her mind as though in a dream.

__

If I've gone overboard  
Then I'm begging you  
to forgive me  
in my haste  
When I'm holding you so girl  
close to me

he sang, his voice bare and full of emotion, quiet and small close to her ear.

"Beautiful voice," was Rory's last really coherent thought.

__

Touch your lips just so I know  
In your eyes, love, it glows so  
I'm bare boned and crazy for you

he continued, feeling the words throbbing inside him, knowing were she fully awake she would have killed him, but the passion of the song and it's sensual, painful melody made his heart hurt. Checking to see if she was fully asleep and reassured, he softly continued with the last words.

__

When you come crash  
into me, baby  
And I come into you  
In a boys dream

he ended quietly, the hidden meaning making him weak, and slowly, he brushed her hair away from her face.

__

  
In a boys dream  
  
Tristan whispered, and gently lifted Rory, setting her on one side underneath the covers. Crawling in, careful not to wake her, he sunk in next to her, feeling her turn to him instinctively and cuddle into the hard angles and curves of his body. Slowly, he relaxed, allowing her to melt into him as she slightly opened her lips and let out a contented sigh.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep, but had he stayed looked at her face, he would've seen the sly smile slowly spreading over her face when she heard the last part of his song, when he'd believed she'd been asleep. Biting her lip in a pleasant shiver of anticipation, she managed to banish the terrifyingly pleasant image in her head raised by those last words. She let a out a tiny, contented moan and let one hand slip over the firm, lean abs and chest as she curled into him even closer, falling into a light sleep with a small smile on her face.

Over the city, the sunrise broke fuchsia and raw and golden glorious, and one lone shadow slipped out of the warm c covers. Quietly, she kissed the forehead of the boy with the troubled expression, and disappeared through the door. In her room, she started packing. It was time.

So, how'didja like it? I thought this part was pretty decent myself.....and I'm sorry bout the cliffhanger, but this story is not over yet. Sure, it's about a weekend. But everyone knows, sin has it's consequences...Tristan is Tristan, and he has yet to change. Problem is, what will Rory do now?

__

  



	6. occurences in the rain....

Yay! Here it is, the long awaited chapter. Where is Rory dissapearing to? What's going on! All those questions answered and more in this ch.. For all those that wanted to know why Rory was acting so all out of character and throwing caution to the winds, here it is. Expect an epilogue sometime soon....as soon as the two of them get it together and Rory decides....

enjoy

luce

Occurrences In the Rain.

The air was thick outside, and gray when Tristan DuGrey woke up; with a slight jolt, noticing the empty pillow beside him. Outside, the rain drummed sadly on the roof, splashing like tears down the windowpanes and dripping to the desolate ground below. Underneath, the swollen belly of the city's gutters roared with the floods pouring in the grates; it was a low rumble that all residents of that old, mysterious town felt quietly underneath them. Tristan laid in silence, listening to the sounds of the rain outside, staring at the ceiling, and remembering.

He had never felt this way before.

Maggie Longbourne-Sheffield. The way she had pronounced it when she had told it to him was a challenge in itself; he found himself obsessed by her startling green eyes and stained lips. She had been wearing a Burberry raincoat when he'd seen her first, her long legs slipping out from underneath, a smirk on her face, her disheveled blonde hair falling in her eyes. She was the British girl with her father's coat of arms tatooed on the inside of her thigh, the one he'd chased for a month before she'd given into him. But he remembered nothing but cold satisfaction in the aftermath that followed, and he'd never seen her again after leaving the Essex estate that summer.

There was Theresa at the spa in Beverly Hills, Sheila whose parents spent winter with his in Hot Springs at the ski cabana, too many girls at Chilton whose name he'd forgotten; Silver, the girl who worked at the merry go round in Martha's Vineyard, and Penelope, the pretty maid that worked at their tile house in Argentina.........and Marie, the French girl that went to Sorbonne that he'd met on the Riviera when they were there two summers ago. But none of them had made him feel like this. Looking back at them, he felt a certain sense of revulsion, of disgust with himself. They had only hardened his heart, made him less caring....suddenly, with a flash of fear, he wondered, were Rory to fall for him too, would she become like the rest of them in his eyes?

Chilled, he banished the disturbing thoughts from his head, trying to shake them clean. He was who he was; that he could not deny. His life had molded him. But for her sake, there was nothing he wouldn't try to change. Smiling warmly at the thought, he showered, dressed and walked to her room.

"I'll take her to tea parties, and have them serve her coffee; I'll go explore Stars Hollow with her if she promises to come to our beach house with me for a day. I'll do anything unconventional, anything wrong; I'll show her my life without pulling her into it. Then maybe she'll understand." he though to himself as he knocked.

Silence.

He felt a twinge of dread in his stomach.

"Rory?" he called through the door, and nausea accosted him when he felt the door handle open easily under his fingers.

The room was quiet and silent, and clean; there was only a note on the table, a plain sheet of paper with a few sentences scrawled across.

"Dear Tristan,

Thanks for letting me stay and I'm sorry for causing trouble. Must head home, my mom is probably worried. Seya sometime."

Numbly, he gazed at the letter, with each moment a growing sense of strangeness alerting him of a hidden danger. It did not sound like Rory; there seemed to be something wrong. The Rory he knew would not take off without warning, without thought........

Neither would the Rory Lorelai knew, his mind warned him.

Suddenly, a single though flashed across his brain.

There was something wrong with Rory.

On the curb outside the airport, in the pouring rain, stood a single solitary figure.

She was wearing a blue plaid skirt and blazer; confused, she stood there, letting the cold water drip off her, a backpack on her back. She leafed through it again, and she looked extremely disturbed, then she looked around again. A few passersby looked at her curiously, but she searched feverishly and did not notice their glances. Heading inside the terminal, she sat on a bench and stared aimlessly; her face was pale and thin.

Rory Gilmore was sick.

She had come to the airport with a single thought; getting back to her mother, the trouble she must have caused, the pain. In her mind, Tristan was forgotten almost completely. She was distracted, unaware, and slightly delirious. Upon realizing she had no way to get home, she sat down and let her mind blank out a bit.

She felt sick, but not really; a little hungry and very wet and cold. Thinking a ticket would show up soon, she sat there carefully, watching the people swirl around her.

Her eyes were glazed, staring out into space.

She was lost.

Jumping out of the Benz and motioning to the chauffer, Tristan ran towards the airport. The rain thundered down around him, cold and hard and sharp, stinging his skin with it's small, frigid slaps. Searching the outside carefully and finding nothing, he ran inside, his eyes sweeping the length of the terminal. People looked curiously at the soaked boy navigating the masses, women casting more than once glance at the blue cotton shirt clinging to his frame, men curiously and amusedly looking at a boy they perceived as lost, secretly and subconsciously envying him. Unaware, he moved through the crowds in the chilly terminal, looking in each corner and bend until he came out of a store and saw her.

She sat on a bench, holding her backpack and looking deathly pale and sick; carefully, she tied her shoelace and looked back up again, her tired eyes seeing nothing. Her hair was neatly swept back and her skirt was ironed, but it was clear Rory was not there.

"Rory!" he yelled, rushing towards him. She looked up at him with feverish cheeks and burning eyes, and smiled, troubled.

"What are you doing here? I left a note, it's alright, I'm alright. I need to get home, I left my mother. Like I left Dean, but I have to go back to my mother. You see? She's worried. Have to go back. Absolutely no two ways about it, but I have to wait...."

Horrified, Tristan looked back at the girl.

"Cmon," he said, firmly grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet. Protectively, he looped one of his arms through hers, gently pulling her along towards the exits. She willingly followed, still dazed, and he managed to get her into the Benz.

"Home," he ordered crisply, and the driver nodded.

He pulled her through the doors, and helped her up the stairs. Feeling very helpless and terrified, he took off her shoes and laid her on her bed. Running downstairs, he called the butler.

"Call the doctor," he commanded, and the butler nodded.

Looking back at Rory, he was horrified to see her pale lips, her listless hands, and most of all her coldness; her cheeks were chilled, and yet her eyes burned brightly. Full of fear, but sense overcoming panic, he managed to take off her rain-soaked blazer and then her damp shirt off. Feeling as though he were committing some sacrilege or serious crime, as though he were desecrating something pure or innocent, he managed to peel to knee socks off too, and then the chilly undershirt. His eyes carefully traveled the length of her vulnerable, exposed body, he felt a wave of protective love and worry sweep him. He slid a flannel pajama top on her, then some pants under her skirt, managing to take the skirt off best he could. Tristan had never done this so gingerly, so fearfully and carefully, and without lust, just concern; although the mere act was sending shivers through him, his worry quenched anything that might have occurred. 

Tucking her in under the covers, and rubbing her hands desperately to try to keep her warm, he paged the butler.

"Bring some hot herbal tea, decaf," he told the servant, with a sudden vague sense of an unknown.

Walking over to the other side of the bed, he tripped over her backpack. Looking down at the offending object, that sense suddenly kicked in again. On impulse, he suddenly started digging in her backpack. Finding nothing but a load of homework and papers and books, he was about to set it down when he noticed a small bottle.

Picking it up, his eyes grew wide in horror as he saw the label; his breath caught in his throat, and a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Shit" he muttered blankly, his mind a sudden wasteland. Out of the panic, he managed to formulate one thought; call Lorelai.

Four hours later, Lorelai and Tristan sat outside an emergency room in New Orleans; the hallway smelled of antiseptic and fresh paint. The two did not say much, just tensely sat in the plastic chairs, waiting, waiting and praying.

"Ms. Gilmore?" a voice above them said gently.

Lorelai's head snapped up, and Tristan could see the fear etched in her features.

"Yes," she whispered, her whisper a plea.

"Your daughter is fine, we've taken care of the problem. She's being placed in room 211, you can see her in a few minutes if you'd like. She'll probably be still asleep under the anesthesia, but she might recognize you. The doctor will come by to tell you what's going on," said the nurse with a smile.

Tristan and Lorelai let out a sigh of relief, managing to finally look at each other.

"You're not off the hook yet," she said, her lips in a thin line.

"Ms. Gilmore, ah....Lorelai......I promise you, I had nothing to do with this. I would never do anything to hurt Rory," he said softly, holding he woman's gaze firmly. "I would say I love her, but the truth is, I don't know her well enough yet; but I know that there's a good chance I'll be mad about her for a very long time. And even if she never loved me, she'd still be that one girl that I would never forget, the one that all girls I might date after would know they were being compared to without even knowing her name. Rory's already hooked me."

Lorelai looked at the boy for a second, and sighed.

"I'm sorry Tristan, I didn't mean to accuse you. But the truth is, you remind me so much of her father."

"Father?" Tristan said confusedly.

"Yeah," smiled Lorelai wearily. "You're a bad-ass spoiled rich kid, you got girls from France to Sun Valley to Oxford, you're a little rebel in plaid. And you have that effect on Rory that her dad did on me,.....and well, look what happened to us. I'd give anything to make sure Rory doesn't repeat that. Plus, you're the Evil One," she told him, managing a small grin.

"What if I bought you some coffee at that gift shop on the second floor on the way to Rory's room?"

"Do you think you could escape my wrath by bribing me with coffee?"

"Well...." grinned Tristan.

"Good job, you're learning fast," smiled back Lorelai. "I promote you to Mildly Bad One. Less than Evil, not yet good."

"What does it take to be promoted to good?" asked Tristan with a cocky grin.

"Driving an average nice little 97 Honda Accord, calling my daughter by her real name, not shopping at Abercrombie&Fitch anymore, and remembering all our birthdays and anniversaries for starters."

"97 Honda Accord?" groaned Tristan. "You're one evil woman. You'd love to see me sacrifice my lifestyle and turn into a little hometown boy type."

"Nah, then you'd be Dean." admitted Lorelai pensively.

Tristan thought about it for a moment.

"You don't really want that, do you." he asked her quietly and good-humoredly.

"Ok, ok, you can drive a Volvo. Good enough for you?"

"It screams 'boring and responsible yet filthy rich' but whatever you want."

"Sounds great. Shall we go up to her room?"

The two entered the elevator with their coffee, hearts much lighter.

"Hey Rory," whispered Lorelai softly as she bent over her daughter's bed. "I'm here. How're you feeling?"

Rory turned her head groggily, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her mother.

"Mommy," she cried, and threw her arms around Lorelai. The two hugged for a second before Lorelai leaned back.

"Somebody else here to see you too," she smiled.

Tristan peeped over the edge of the bed, a small smile on his face. She was still in the flannel pj's he'd given her, and even with her drawn face and puffy eyes she looked beautiful.

"Hey," she croaked out, and he just reached down his hand and stroked her hair softly, as though making sure she was real. Lorelai watched quietly, feeling the depth and width of feeling running like an underwater current through him.

"Shh, don't say anything. Feeling better?" he asked, reluctantly taking his hand away.

She nodded and smiled a tiny smile. Looking back and forth between her mom and Tristan, her eyebrows arched in a question mark.

"Oh, yes, I've met the Evil...ahem, Mildly Bad One. We bonded in the elevator. He's promised to drive a Volvo and bring me coffee. So that means at the moment he's at peace with the Gilmore tribe and is in no current danger of being hunted, captured and roasted over a pit fire in our backyard."

They laughed at Rory's look of horrified amusement, when the doctor walked in.

The four of them stared at each other for a second, before he spoke.

"I'm Dr. Walton, Rory's doctor. Before we start, are you all familiar with what induced her sickness?"

Tristan's face went slightly pale, and he looked at the two, but they seemed clueless.

The doctor placed the bottle on the table. With a shock, Tristan realized it was the bottle he'd found in Rory's backpack. Terror materialized in Rory's eyes, and confusion in her mothers.

"Unfortunately, we see a lot of these cases. Not only are these "Herbal Remedy Energy" pills highly dangerous in themselves, but combined with other metabolism and drugs such as caffeine, they can be deadly. A lot of students think these scams are harmless ways of keeping awake during that final; what most don't know is that they can come closet to killing you.

"I'm sorry," Rory managed to whisper out. "Madeleine said Paris took them and that's how she stayed on top so much, and we had finals that week and I was so tired, and I took one and it kept me going so good that I bought my own the next day.." she finished hoarsely.

"SSShhh, honey, it's alright," Lorelai said tearfully.

"Now," continued Dr. Walton, "Rory consumes a higher amount of caffeine than the average teen. Combined with mental stress from her personal life, and with the pills, it resulted in temporary lapses in her mind's usual neuron synapses and patterns. This may have caused breaks in the pathways, thus leading Rory to do things she wouldn't normally consider due to lack of judgment. If she acted out of character, if could be due to what she's been taking. I recommend that she lay off the coffee for the next two weeks till it's out of her system. As for these," he said, dropping them in the trash and glaring, "touch them again on risk of losing your life. Thank the young man over here for bringing you when he did. Otherwise, you'd be losing a lot more than a few grade points."

With that, the graying man walked out of the room, muttering about the irresponsibility's of kids. 

"Why didn't you tell me? Never mind, don't tell me now. If your workload got too heavy, there were other things we could have resorted to! Oh Rory, don't ever do something like that again," cried out Lorelai, grabbing her head in her hands. Tristan watched from the side of the room, unsure whether to leaver or stay. Without warning, Lorelai rushed up to him and hugged him.

"Thank you so much for taking care of her, this officially promotes you to Marvelous One." she said, smiling through her tears.

"Oh wow, how many levels did I get to skip right there?" he said, in a mock-amazed tone, but understanding.

Rushing back to her daughter, the distracted woman hugged Rory again, and then looked at her trembling hands. 

"Need coffee, be right back. Too much to take without coffee."

The two were left in the room by themselves, and Tristan pulled up a chair to Rory's bedside.

The looked at each other for a while quietly, eyes full of emotions that just stood there, wobbly, needing to be taken care of and neither of them knew how to do it.

"Guess it was too good to be true, huh," smiled Tristan a bit sadly. "Turns out you weren't in your right mind when you did those things you did. If you never want to hear it from me again when we go back to school, I can go back to being your...whatever I was....enemy...."

Rory shook her head madly from side to side, and Tristan felt his heart suddenly pound strangely.

"I wasn't out of my mind the whole time," she whispered hoarsely, and smiled a strange smile.

"Oh really?" he grinned suddenly light. "Do you remember anything?"

She thought for a moment, and motioned him nearer with her finger.

Bending close to her to catch the muted whisper, Tristan suddenly heard her words brush by his ear delicately.

"I remember what you sang to me," she said delightedly, and watched him pale; then, his discomfort as he quickly gazed into her eyes for reassurance that she wasn't upset.

Instead, Rory raised her head only slightly, and brushed a chaste kiss on his cheek, close to him mouth. His hand went up to it almost instinctively, incredulously; she let her head back down on the pillow, and closed her eyes softly.

He leaned back and watched her breathe quietly, saying nothing.

Outside, Lorelai watched the two, smiling a tiny smile.

He would pass.

Only one question.......where did Rory get those pajamas she was wearing?

There! Now expect an epilogue.....well, depends. If ya'll think this is an epilogue in itself, I won't need to write one but if you think it needs an ending, tell me. Either way, we'll see. Liked it? Tell me. 


	7. the last escape.

Alright, it's been good writing for ya'll. Here's the ending to my lengthy drama, forgive me. Hope you like it, and take a minute to tell me what you thought of the whole bit. Here's your long awaited conclusion, you're the best readers in the world and I hope I did you justice.

luce

It had been five months.

Five months since their mysterious disappearance, the mad days spent in the confusion of the city of the sugar cane traders, the poets and artist, the vampires and voodoo women, of the Cajuns. Five months since she had reached out gently with her fingertips and lightly pulled his shirt off, kissing the raw, painful slash; five months since he had felt her listless sleep-warm mouth in the morning secretly, while shadowy morning dreams fluttered underneath her closed eyelids.

Five long months.

They had promised, promised to never tell anyone; he had made her promise to never attempt something as stupid, ever again. She had thrown away the pills, taken a break from coffee, straightened her workload out and put in extra effort. Her eyes were bright and electric again, the blue depths simmering with the passion for life that had so captivated him. Five months since they had ever come that close to giving in..........

He was tired. Weary of the life he had built around himself that had turned into a cage; tired of the social engagements, the mad vacations on the Seine and to Naples and Milan, tired of the yachts and the blue jewels and the blue blood. All he wanted was peace, but it was nowhere to be found. The nightmares had come very rarely, but now, were at least once a week; the workload was heavy, the pressure was great, the girls were too easy and left him warm and dirty and careless. She didn't know, he never told her of the stilted table conversations, the cool clink of his mother's Bulova watch against her champagne glass, the smoke that curled up in silent clouds around his father's head as he sat in his study reading the paper. He was alone, so alone, and only she was there to stave off eminent disaster. He drew as much as he could from her without alerting her. He wasn't ready, wasn't completely changed yet. A miracle was yet in coming.

Sometimes, when they'd talk and cuddle up on a couch, she noticed a listless silence in his demeanor that crept into his words; knowing him to be as moody and fickle as the weather, she tried to decipher it, and then put it aside. They'd tuck their toes under the couch cushions to keep warm, laugh over the day's events, and play tug of war with the blanket they were supposed to share. Laughing at infomercials and talk shows, making coffee, doing homework.........those days went by fast, fading into winter, and in his head, winter set also, gray and cold and devoid of life and warmth.

The sky was dull and thick like a gray, dirty wool blanket; it hung low and close to the ground, suffocating Rory as she walked out of the school towards the parking lot. The gargoyles stared at her with an animosity she imagined; scared, her body buzzing with a feeling, she picked up the pace. Around her, the black, skinny, bare-boned branches of the frozen trees reached up into the pale gray like dying fingers. A strange luminescence shone behind the dull, dirty gray; a pale winter's chill shone in the air, freezing her breath inside her mouth. Shivering, she walked quickly towards her car, an odd feeling assaulting her senses. She knew something was wrong.

And there he was.

He was leaning against his Ferrari, his latest toy. It was cold outside, but he had his blazer off, his shirtsleeves rolled up. The tie was loose around his neck, his shirt tails hanging out with a cocky air of careless prep boy arrogance that Rory would have found alluring if it wasn't so disturbing. He was smoking; his eyes were distant and cool like flat rocks under a river. His hair was a softly tousled mess, and he had the tiniest bit of blond stubble coming in around the edges of his jaw. Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he turned his winter eyes towards her and nodded at her politely.

"Rory."

Baffled and worried, she walked towards him quickly, her eyes speeding along the length of him, frightened.

"Tristan, what the hell are you doing? In case your mind's completely shut down and you haven't noticed, it's winter outside; but then I never gave your intelligence much credit.." she spoke quickly as she snatched the cigarette from his fingers and quickly felt his hands. They were cold as ice.

"Put your jacket on and get inside my car quick before your fingers fall off. Schoolwork at Chilton's hard enough as it is, you might need those. Tristan, say something. You look like a corpse. You look like Paris. Hey, an Englishman, a Yankee and a Cowboy walk into a bar.....ok, shit, this is not working. Get in."

Frightened at his lack of responsiveness, she unlocked the car and turned the engine on, putting the heat at full blast. Tristan climbed in, shutting the door, leaning back on the headrest. She looked at him curiously.

He let out a sigh, the vacancy in his eyes sending a shiver through her.

"I wanna go, Rory."

The words were familiarly spine tingling, and Rory recognized them in an instant. They had been her very words.

Mystified, she replied slowly, with the fated answer.

"Where?" she whispered numbly.

"Anywhere," he answered, looking at her straight in the eyes.

His eyes said desperation, behind the blank mask. Knowing what she had to do, Rory took a deep breath, and pulled all the courage insider her out to do it.

"I trust you'll take care of the financial."

"Always."

The little transaction of words felt so devoid of emotion, that they unsettled her. Revving the engine, she pulled out of the parking lot, and speeded down the freeway.

Chandeliers sparkled like a million teardrops above their heads, lush carpets rolled out beneath them. Golden elevators ascended and descended like waterfalls flowing smoothly over the glass walls of the interior lobby. Opulence shone from everywhere like expensive perfume; Rory couldn't help stare a little, amazed at the quiet, smooth flow of people around her, the delicacy of the glass umbrellas inside the lounge that rested over every table amidst a flowery grill of wrought iron surrounding the walls. Huge fountains twinkles and sparkled and laughed, peacefully whispering lush secrets in their taffeta rustle of flowing water. Exotic flowers dangled from the lacy iron, the cool marble and granite underneath it carved in curious shapes; polished, dark cherry wood chairs were scattered about.

"The Chalet Lounge," said Tristan absently, leading her towards the elevators.

They passed many floors, on some, the glistening silverware throwing gleams off the snow white tables; on others, endless dimly lighted golden hallways stretching out towards huge French windows. On one level, a huge, blue, empty pools glistened quietly in the warm yellow light of the brass lamps that bobbed around it like fireflies; the next level was theirs.

They stepped off the elevator and walked towards the end of the hallway. Rory took one moment to look outside the crystal windows, and gasped. 

Below them, forest and pure banks of glittering snow stretched out; around them, the moody and mysterious mountains hid in blue and purple, their visages shimmering through the clear winter air. Twinkling lights that reminded her of Stars Hollow were everywhere over the beautiful town that surrounded them, the quaint shops and tiny hamlets on the hillside all decorated. Rory could see range upon range in the distance, powerful, majestic, with silver peaks and glimmering moonlit slopes reflecting lavender in the dimming twilight. It was breathtaking, discreet, and more marvelous than anything she'd ever seen before. 

She felt so small surrounded by those beautiful, close, mysterious mountains, so small, yet enveloped in the golden crystal lit cocoon with huge windows that allowed her to stare at the natural beauty that surrounded her. She let out a small, appreciative gasp.

"It's so....beautiful..." she said, lost for words.

Tristan joined her silently at the window, looking out at the vast picture colored in moody blacks, purples, and silver.

"I loved it when I was little. Standing inside this golden, warm, gleaming stronghold and looking out the endless mystery around me, so huge....so distant...yet so close...." he said quietly, surprising her with the depth of his words.

"My parents didn't like it. I guess it reminded them that there were things larger and more important than them and their lifestyle. Those mountains are rich in buried history and stories they don't tell anyone, so majestic in their quiet splendor. So unlike humans...." he continued, and she felt herself dancing amazed at his words inside.

"That's what I was just thinking," she breathed, taking one last look at the huge vista.

The two went inside, were Rory was stunned to find the room was a corner suite. It had two beds, and the whole corner was just one massive French window, made out of glass that stretched over where one wall of the room should have been. The picture looked even bigger and more beautiful, and Rory stepped close to the edge, trying to peer down.

"Not afraid of heights, are we," grinned Tristan, joining her.

"Nope," she laughed, looking down. "If you stand with your toes to the glass and look down, it looks like you're going to fall."

"Makes ya a little dizzy," replied Tristan, stepping back. "But it's beautiful."

The suite was richly ornamented in white and gold, beautiful, fragrant flowers tastefully adorning it. They turned on a light, turning the huge purple picture outside into darkness.

"Funny how turning on a light makes the darkness seem threatening," commented Rory, noticing the change. She examined the bathroom and closets like a kid, delighted at each new little accessory and amenity. He was used to it.

She jumped up on the bed with him and they lay there, staring at the ceiling, wandering, lost inside their thoughts. She turned her head and looked at him, eyes shimmering.

"Welcome to the French Alps, Mary," he said quietly, breaking the silence. They lay there, and shortly turned out the light, just thinking some more.

She squinted in the morning light for a second; in another second she remembered where she was, and it took only a few more to smile.

It was morning.

She faintly recalled leaving a message for her mom explaining all. Lorelai would understand now, having watched Tristan and come to like him. Only a mother could see Tristan as the lonely child he really was, and Lorelai took special care to make him feel at home whenever he had come over. She pulled him into their circle of warmth, a place so remote from the world around them, so far away that he could never have found it by himself. 

Sleepy and hazy eyed, Rory wandered into the bathroom only to be surprised, and not unpleasantly at that. She shook her head as though to shake the sleep out of her eyes, and stared in amazement.

Tristan was standing there in a towel, casually shaving; she could smell his clean shower scent and the light fragrance of the foam. Smiling silently, she leaned against the wall, watching him meticulously wield the razor. With a few swift movements he had eliminated all foam off his face, and he turned on the water and swashed his face. Leaning in close to the mirror, he examined it carefully, and then ran his hand over it. Taking a bit of aftershave, he splashed it over his jaw and neck, and then smiled in satisfaction at the job.

Rory giggled, and he turned around, surprised.

"Morning. Didn't see you come in." he said, watching her with a smirk. "Is this "walking in on each other in the bathroom" bit going to be accidental? Cause I'd like my turn." 

Rory laughed.

"I doubt you'd want to see me shave," she grinned, curiously meandering over to examine the tools of the trade. "I've never seen anyone shave before, except when my mom runs around the house trying to find her purse and shave her legs at the same time with the electric razor when she wakes up late, but that doesn't really count. I meant a guy."

He smiled, and felt it reach his eyes. 

"Did you find the experience enjoyable?" he whispered low in her ear as he passed.

Five months ago she would have blushed, or maybe been at lack for words. But time in the company of Tristan had taught her to be resilient and to ignore his blatantly flirtatious behavior. 

"I'd find it more enjoyable if I got something out of it," she said calmly, stifling a laugh at the look he always got when she responded in his manner.

"Trust me baby, if it involves me, you get something out of it," he said suavely.

"You should probably get your ego in check before it gets so big it starts buying stocks." Rory countered, eyeing him sorely. 

"Una problema," said Tristan, suddenly appearing from the closet. "We don't exactly have clothes this time."

Rory furrowed her brow and sighed.

"Damn, I forgot about that. What to do?" she wondered, scanning her mind for options.

"Put on yesterday's and go shopping with me. Or we could stay here and walk around in towels. Or naked, if that suits you better."

"I'm sure that would only suit you better," Rory snorted in amusement. "Breakfast?"

"On the way up," answered Tristan, appearing yet again in his towel.

"I dare you to answer the door butt naked." grinned Rory, watching his stunned reply.

"Hmmm, ....what'll you give me?" queried Tristan with an amused smile.

"My deepest respect. Double dare you."

"Ooohh, can't back down from that one. You really want to see me naked, don't you." 

Even though the idea unsettled Rory more than she would have liked to admit, it was too late to back down.

"If I wanted to see you naked, you would have been naked by now." she responded dryly.

"Oh, you think I'd do that for just about anyone?" he said with an injured air.

"Chilton polls say ...... all the pretty girls count as anyone..." she quipped, the words stinging her a little.

"Chilton polls are wrong," he replied shortly and disappeared back into the bathroom.

There was quiet for a few moments, before Rory got bored again.

"Whatcha doin in there?" she called out from her haphazard position on the bed.

"Waxing my chest," came the reply in an affected feminine voice.

This sent Rory into a fit of giggles, and she hopped off the bed and peeked around the bathroom door.

He was successfully styling his hair with water and a tiny can of complementary hair spray.

"Oh God! Desacration! What happened to your ten gallon can of gel?" mocked Rory.

"Oh, you got jokes. If you really care to know, I don't use that much gel really. I like my hair touchable." said Tristan with an effeminate flair.

"Eww, Tristan, it scares me how well you do that. Let me test it for touchability," she grinned, and reached up.

His hair was soft, surprisingly soft; she found herself confused and lost for a second as her fingers traveled up through his hair, running over his head. 

"It's like duck fluff," she managed, without sarcasm.

They were too close for comfort; she faintly smell the aftershave, the soft smell of his skin near his neck, and all of a sudden she felt hungry to taste his mouth....empty.....

He felt a tiny pang of anticipation run through him, his body knowing him better than he knew himself.

"You like?" he whispered, and his mouth was dry, left open and empty for great things to fill.

She was so close he could have bent down and kissed her, but instead, he held still, as though afraid she would disappear if he attempted to make sure she was real.

She was dazed, appalled by her weakness, memories flooding back into her veins, sweet like poison; the house, the vines on the iron, the flower cascades; blues and jazz, a cold bathroom and his warm skin, the eyes in the dark that glimmered with pain and honesty........the softly whispered words of his song.....

There was a knock on the door.

Tristan mentally cursed, Rory stepped away confused and embarrassed, and the two stared for a moment.

"I'll get it," offered Rory awkwardly, noticing Tristan's state of less dress.

He helped her with the breakfast trays, setting them down on the table, and the two pulled up chairs and ate while looking at the dazzling vista outside their massive glass wall. The slopes glittered like pure sugar in the sun, the sky blue as the bluest eye; richly foliaged pine trees dotted the landscape and then stretched out into forests further into the mountains. 

The two ate in silence, rehashing and remembering everything that had happened five months ago. It was not even half-year, but it seemed a life time. Since then, they had been just friends....but any close contact and the restless truce was in serious danger of being broken. It had been Rory then. Now she knew it was Tristan, but she didn't know why and how, and she knew she had to find out before things got too expensive and serious.

The two dressed and descended into the quaint, picturesque French-Swiss hamlet, laughing and joking through the remainder of the afternoon as they selected a few clothes and sampled everything they could. Underneath it all lay the real problem, and it brooded as large, distant and ominous as the hidden mountains in the distance.

They hadn't talked yet.

The whole day had passed, and another night, but he had said nothing yet; Rory waited, not wanting to push, afraid of what might come out of his mouth. But he was silent, offering no clue to his sudden spontaneous escape, and the reason he had brought her here.

Until the second evening.

He slid into the silk shirt easily, the smooth material fitting over his broad shoulders and smooth, muscled frame easily; tying the tie with a few deft movements, he tightened it and admired the effect. Slipping into the suit coat, he turned to admire the handsome, tall figure in the mirror. He ran a hand through the thick, soft blond hair and smirked suavely at the mirror. Nice, nice indeed. No one in that dining room could hold a candle to him and Rory tonight.

He swaggered out of the bathroom, and stopped still at seeing the figure at the window. 

The room was dark, and the stars shone outside the huge glass window fiercely; he could see her slender silhouette by the window. The long, shapely legs ascended into a knee-length well tailored cloud of tulle netting under a satin skirt that shifted to wherever she swung her hips. Above it rose a tiny waist and graceful arms that rested slim fingers on the window. Breathless, he watched as her eyes glimmered blue and purple from the light outside. She didn't see him. She was completely lost in the scenery. 

He came up quietly behind her, drinking her in, the shapes and angles and planes of her body, the flutter of her features in the darkness. Breathing in deep, he tasted her scent, and then put out two hesitant hands. They floated over her shoulders, slipping in a quick movement down her arms.

Startled, she turned with a good natured smile that faded quickly when she saw his face. Shocked, for a moment, she realized what it was; his guard was down. The unbelievably cocky and self confident player was slightly lost for words as he studied her barely open lips. His whole defense was gone.

"You look beautiful," he finally managed, and softly, in the evening gloom, she read his smile.

"Thank you," she responded calmly and elegantly, giving him a gorgeous smile that shook him.

"Would you dance?" he asked, out of nowhere. Slightly bewildered, but bemused, Rory grinned.

"Sure, why not. What's playing?" she asked, taking a step towards him.

"Hmm....Cole Porter. Or maybe, some low swing New Orleans style blues." he whispered, drawing her in.

Both were skilled, thanks to Miss Patty for Rory and thanks to millions of social engagements for Tristan. With an easy grace they floated around the room, bathed in the starlight. He held her delicately in his arms, the only sounds in the room were their soft breathing and the barely audible footsteps on the carpet. She treaded lightly on slim heeled gold slippers, eyes partially closed, the song playing in her head. She started humming a bit, a sweet, clear contralto. 

He watched the starlight dance into shadows on her face as they stepped gracefully to the unheard rhythm; drawing her in a little closer, he bent his head into the nape of her neck the tiniest bit, aching to taste her perfume. Slowly, almost unconsciously, she brought her face closer, until they were cheek to cheek. He spread his hand on the small of her back, guiding her body carefully; she draped one arm around his neck, her fingers absently toying with the hair on the back of his neck.

It took one tiny snag.

In a split second, her heel had caught in the carpet; it was only a tiny trip, a small disruption, but if woke both of them up instantly. She realized with a certain rush of nervousness that his face was so close that she could hear him breathe close to her ear. He realized in one split second a decision would be made. But he was trained well. He didn't hesitate.

"Wouldn't it be nice," he whispered, distracting her from the terrifying moment, "you and me always doing this, flying around the world to golden hotels and listening to Cole Porter and dancing in the dark, wouldn't it be nice....always young, rich, and beautiful, you and me. We'd be immortal."

The words played in her ears like magic, and she couldn't helps smile at them. They resumed a slow sway, her arms wrapped around his neck and his pulling her closer as he whispered all kinds of daydreams.

"We'd go to Paris, and then, I want to take you on a yacht to Greece. Then we'd go to Hong Kong and see the orchid gardens. I'd take you to Colombia and we could have fresh coffee. I mean fresh. Then, maybe we'll sail on a huge cruise boat to Alaska and see the Aurora, northern lights. We'd never think about anything else..."

"At least until your pocket book runs out," smiled Rory as they swayed.

"Then we'd head home and get another load from my safe. Trust me, there's enough to go around." 

"I bet," murmured Rory, lost inside the softly rocking moonlight world. "Why me? I'm that good of a friend?" she said jokingly, quietly.

He hesitated for a moment, and then drunk with the stars, opened his mouth.

"Because I love you," he said so softly that it shook her like an electric current. 

Frozen inside his embrace, she didn't move. She couldn't. The words flowed through her veins like fire; she wanted to scream, wanted to escape, wanted to crush his mouth with fierce kisses. She did none. She just stood.

He noticed she'd stopped moving, and dread overtook him. Almost instinctively, he tightened his grip on her, drawing his head back; he knew this was it.

Her eyes were lost; they wandered all over his face, not wanting to lock in on his. She was dizzy. He could hear her short, erratic breath and the way her lips fell a little bit open, as though struggling to say something. Hope sped through him like a poisoned bullet, and he waited desperately for something, anything.

She said nothing.

Heart gone still and cold, he slowly pressed her to him, and laid his head on her shoulder. She held on fiercely, a small tear forming.

"I'm sorry," she heard him whisper. "I didn't mean to. It just came out. I swear." 

She interrupted his dizzy apology, putting her finger up to his mouth and whispering, "shhh" in a painful way. Closing her eyes, she struggled to hold back the emotions.

He released her and took a step back. This was it. He shouldn't have said it. Turning his back, he headed towards the door, unsure of where to go.

"Tristan." 

It was only one word, but he read Rory's voice like an open book full of nuances. Frozen, he didn't dare turn his head.

When he heard the footsteps behind him, he spun around just in time to catch her mouth. She kissed him passionately, her arms pulling him in, her mouth numb with sudden emotion and joy and confusion; he felt a slow grin overtake his features, and he had to pull away for a second to smile and breathe. The stood there, bathed in the pale evening light, just breathing and grinning.

This time, he leaned in and kissed her agonizingly slow, teasing her, pulling her in one inch at a time; his lips barely touched down and then pulled back, finally landing softly on hers. The pressure increased as her fingers crept up to his face, tracing the chiseled lines of his jaw and his partly open lips, a tiny fingertip landing between them, and exiting, moist. 

Driven mad, he fully took control and entered her lips forcefully, and she fought back; a soft moan emerged from her throat as the tip of his tongue traced the opening between her lips. Soft and warm, he quested, not forced; she allowed him to invade, to take over, leaving her weak in the knees.

She took a step back, and another, and the two fell onto the bed, crawling back wards a few feet. His hands carefully traced her, as thought to make sure she was real.

"You're crushing the dress," whispered Rory breathlessly, in a tiny break for air.

"I don't think I really care, unless you do," Tristan said, claiming her lips once again.

She could feel the length of his body, muscle and sinew and bone tightly wound together, shifting like heavy, velvet covered iron, but not too heavy. Gently, he made sure he wasn't hurting her. Warmth spread over her from his body, and she was lost in the feeling of being overpowered, weak from his lips, his hands.

"Tristan, don't......start...." she struggled between kisses, her own words refusing to leave her mouth... "something....we can't finish," she managed to gasp out, almost crazy from the shivers running up her thighs.

Instantly, he quickly rolled off, and sat up beside her. The strain showed on his features, but he bit his lip hard and struggled quietly for a few seconds. She lay beside him, her body screaming out for her to reach up and pull him back down. But her mind reminded her otherwise, and flooded with regret and a sudden tightness, she sat up also and looked ruefully at the dress for a second. She refused to look at him, knowing if she did she would lose all control.

Tristan sat quietly with his back against the wall, a slow smile spreading across his features. His eyes were full; they sparkled in the cool light brightly, silently. He'd known it all along, waited for her patiently, waited and wondered, and now he knew.

She wanted him too.

His smile showed the arrogance, the cockiness, the self confidence of a man who had it so together that nothing short of a catastrophe could take it apart. He was a player, a thief, a con man in his own sense; he stole hearts, he stole smiles, he stole impressions and could lie through anything. Nothing could take him apart. Nothing except a beautiful woman.

That certain woman's been the downfall of many a man such as this. Tristan DuGrey was the self made prep school boy who definitely had it all. Nothing could melt the outer exterior, the cool, uncomplicated but mischievously smiling self. The boy was out for trouble the day he was born, and he'd been getting away with ever since.

But now, in the severity of the situation, his life cool and distanced around him, and the beautiful woman who was the given downfall practically in his arms, things were not like he'd imagined them to be. There was too much emotion. Too much pain. Too much want.

She had won. She had brought him down.

But he didn't care. The walls shimmered and trembled with emotion around them, silent witness to the crime. She buried her face in her hands and they sat there on the bed, sorting everything out, separating everything in their heads and organizing it. This went here. That went there. And the emotion, they could not find a place for, a reason for, an explanation. So they pushed it from between them, and crawled next to each other, looking out at it. She laid her head on his shoulder, her fingertips brushing the cool silk of his shirt. Her cheeks were flushed and his breath was warm on his head. They sat there for a while, just thinking.

"It's so cold. No one understands. That's why I didn't want to tell you." he said, voice a little unsteady. 

"I do. C'mere," she motioned, and he laid his head down in her lap as she stroked his head, running her hands through his hair. "You'll find a way to manage. You always do. You always land on your feet," she whispered, desperately wanting to believe her own words.

"I don't know. It's like I live by myself, and no one's around. I'm tired of being rich. I know you don't feel sorry for me, don't. But I swear to god, I don't need a psychiatrist or anything. I don't know what I need."

"I don't either," she said, smiling sadly. "As much as your Holden Caulfield-esque situation draws me, I can't seem to be able to get to the middle of it. What do I do with you, Tristan?" she asked plaintively. 

"Hold me and make it go away," he whispered, and she bent down and placed a warm, lingering kiss onto his lips.

He crawled into her arms like a lost little boy, and she let him burrow into her like he was dying of cold and she was his only blanket. Burying his head into the nape of her neck, he whispered out what had happened, his dreams, and told her things he'd never told her before. Things he'd never told anyone. Told her about his house, the first girl he was ever in love with and what had happened, told her about his parent's affairs and their cold hearted regret at having a child to hamper them. Everything poured out, and she cried for him, because he couldn't cry. He tried, but he couldn't remember how to.

The sunlight tasted clear and sweet on her lips when she woke up in the morning. Opening huge, sleep hazy eyes, she gasped when she saw who was in her arms, remembered the night before, and relaxed. Looking sadly at the decidedly pathetic crumpled dress, she smiled softly. Rory ran a hand through his soft hair, looking at his peaceful face as he slept. Running a finger across his lips, she headed for the shower.

When she got out, he went in. She dressed, and ordered a light breakfast. Quietly picking up any articles they had, she carefully packed them, and set everything by the beds. When he came out, he noticed. The two ate breakfast and didn't say much.

"I take it you want to leave," he finally said, and she looked up quickly.

"Tomorrow is a school day," she said carefully. "I want you to take a break. We have two more days of school, and then the weekend. This weekend, you're staying with me and my mom in Stars Hollow."

His eyes widened, one eyebrow cocked. He took a careful bite of French Toast.

"How do you think she'll react when you get home and to top it, tell her that?"

"We'll figure it out. Go to school these next two days, and I'll take care of you. By Monday, we'll have something figured out. I can't keep running away, we can't keep running. First me, than you, next what? We'll figure something out, there'll be a way to fix all this. But I need help. I need my mom. And I need you. Don't lose me again, ok?"

He took one look at her worried face, and felt a small warmth spread through him.

"I thought we already figured something out," he said quietly, and watched carefully for her response.

"And what might that be, Mr. DuGrey?" she answered playfully. 

Suddenly leaning in, he placed a powdered sugar sticky kiss on her lips that she hungrily answered to.

"Besides that," she said, blushing a little.

"Nothing else besides that. I'm ready to go home. Er, to my house. How bout you?"

"Can't wait. Let's catch the first plane out."

The two pushed aside the breakfast plates, and stood up, heading for the doorway. Tristan couldn't resist.

"You sure you wanna leave before we do something you probably couldn't do at home? We're in a locked hotel room on another continent. I'd take advantage of this if I were you." he said, leaning close, with a terrifyingly seductive smile that unnerved her and almost made her loose her cool. Two can play that game, she remembered with a sly smile.

She reached out and put her lips close to his ear, kissing his neck before whispering into his hair.

"When I want to take advantage of you, it won't matter where we are." Rory purred, and headed for the door.

Stunned and literally weak in the knees, he watched her hips as they departed. Struggling to regain control, he shook his head in amazement.

"Damn," he muttered, and followed her out. "Let the games begin."

4 Months Later.

Rory and Tristan curled up in the porch swing, rocking back and forth lazily. Her head rested on his shoulder, and he draped his arm around her lazily.

"Glad you decided to stick it out till the year was over. You know, we're about to be done with this school forever. Are we supposed to be feeling bad?" she said, snuggling into his shoulder.

"Oh trust me, I'm definitely not joining any alumni organizations. Wanna get in on my plans to bomb the place after we graduate?"

"No thanks, Harvard might have a teeny problem with my indictment. I'm pretty sure admissions frowns on that kinds of thing." grinned Rory.

"Fine," grumbled Tristan. "You'll have to get a fire escape ladder so I can sneak into your dorm room. I'll be just across the lawn in the men's dorms......."

"Why can't you walk in the front door like everyone else?" giggled Rory.

"What kind of story to tell your grandkids would that be?" grinned Tristan mischievously. "Plus, I mean to be there long after visiting hours."

"Why would you want to do that?" said Rory, cocking an eyebrow with a sly smile.

"So we can get down and dirty."

"Tristan!"

"What?! I've stopped throwing innuendoes at you. Now I'm just being flat out honest." he protested, a gleam in his eye. "You weren't picking up too well on the hints, I thought I'd try the straightforward way."

"Either way, don't expect much," scolded Rory dryly. Instantly she blushed, as he gave her an incredulous look, reminding her of how utterly ridiculous and false that statement would be. Quietly, they laughed together. Stopping to look into the huge blue eyes, the boy felt a wave of love wash through him.

"I didn't the first day we stepped off that plane in New Orleans. Things have been a little different since," he said quietly.

"Mmmm," she murmured, reaching up and placing a lazy kiss on his lips.

"Hey, isn't this about the time we went last year?" she said, a gleam in her eyes.

"Yeah, it kinda is," he said slowly, catching the look creeping over her face. "Oh god, you're insane. Please don't say it. Don't....okay...do..."

"I wanna go," she whispered, and stood up.

"Oh God!" he yelled after her, but she wasn't listening. She raced inside the house.

"I'm packing! Get the keys!" she yelled back from another room, and he could hear her laughter. He took a deep breath, and followed her in. 

Alright, that was it! Liked it, hated it, drop me a line. Also, if you want a sequel, lemme know because I was seriously thinking of starting one. It won't be as long as the first but it'll still probably be during senior year at Chilton. Thanks for the support, it's been good, but I think I'm reverting to the dark side (jess and rory) which, I know, is seriously scary, but if I do, come and check it out. you might even (gasp) like it. lol, whatever, and adios.

luce


	8. Preview of sequel (sneak peek)

Hey everyone! Thanks for letting me know your honest opinions on my sad little fic. But hey, if you like it, I'll post more. Which is, in fact, what I'm doing now. I haven't had time to write the whole first chapter of the sequel, but I have had time to write one scene, which you will find the sneak preview for right here. Let's just say the passion factor is up a few notches. But the fresh ideas are also in place (more or less) and you should get quite a few surprises as the story goes. But enough meaningless chit chat. Here's the good stuff, just a peek preview of one scene of the first chapter (or second).

If you're interested in the sequel or have any ideas, let me know! If you want more of this scene, you'll be seeing it in the sequel (provided my urges to join the dark side don't take over before I finish..the pull is mighty strong...)

so enjoy the foretaste and lemme know what you want to see in the sequel.

luce

"I ....when did you find out.....oh ...Tristan...God!"

She watched in horrified disbelief as his hand shook on the glass; he was cold, furious, confused, desperately sad, maddened. Numbly, she watched the crystal fly through the air, beams of diamond light slicing through it's rainbow reflection.

The glass crashed against the fireplace with a terrifying sharp scream of slivers slicing the air around the stone; Rory gasped breathless, shrinking back. 

He stood still, watching the shattered glass on the carpet, the thin liquid seeping in the expensive white Persian rug as though in a horrible nightmare. Groaning, he fell onto the couch, sinking into it, his face in his hands. He felt a hot liquid burning the back of his eyelids, an unfamiliar feeling.

Rory tried to disappear into the wall, her face pale, watching him with eyes wide as the midday sky; the room was cold and sterile, the leather couches cold and unfeeling, the fireplace dead and cool with the memories of a million unlighted fires.

She silently watched Tristan struggling, desperate for a feeling, for anything; not knowing what to do, she acted on some sort of autopilot, creeping towards the fireplace. Numbly, she picked up the shattered glass, feeling a tiny sliver slice through her finger. Too scared to cry out, she confusedly picked up the pieces in her hand, and stared at the translucent shards. Biting back the tears that pooled on the surface of her eyes, she deposited of the glass quickly, and approached the tortured boy on the couch.

With the flutter of slender muscles, she slid in next to him, her hands reaching out towards him in a dance of reluctance; he did not seem to respond, and she felt very old all of a sudden.

"I'm so sad for you," she said, and the words came out simple and clear.

She was not sorry for him. 

The words seemed to drift towards him like clean air, and he breathed them in whole.

"Forgive me," he said through clenched teeth, struggling to hold back the emotion.

"It's not hard to do," her pained voice spoke, and her head rested on his shoulder.

A sudden rush of heat swirled inside him, the hurt welling up in his throat, regret pouring into his eyes, closed to hold her back. Reaching out blindly, he buried himself inside her suddenly, and he shook; his mouth sought to form words that she understood and she rocked him. Holding him close, she crawled into his lap and held his head as he shook, whispering jumbled words into her collarbones. 

"Shhhh, it's alright, don't say anything," she sobbed out, and his hands painfully wrapped themselves around her, crushing her. They clung to each other in the cold, empty room full of accusing, expensive reminders; she held him as tight as she could, afraid he would disappear if she didn't hold on hard enough.

"I need you," he groaned, and she felt a single burning drop between his eye and her skin, as her tears mingled into his hair, leaving it damp. She kissed the top of his head like a mother would, comforting him, when his face snapped up violently.

His mouth was hot and tasted the salt from her tears, mingled with the bitterness in his blue diamond eyes; it conquered her, desperate, his lips seeking solace. Gaining entry, he left her weak and helpless to his touch, and his tongue licked her upper lip right before clashing.

"Don't cry Mary don't, I can't watch you, stop," he whispered madly, dizzy from the heat of her mouth. In the cold room, he'd never felt so frozen; she was the only thing keeping him warm.

"I'm bleeding," she said, a shaky, half crazy smile on her face as she held up her finger.

"Don't, Mary, stop...." he whispered, his mouth dry, as he took one look at her tearstained face. Gently, he took her hand, the slender fingers lost in his own, and held it up, placing the finger to his lips and kissing the cut gently. "Look what I did," he said almost to himself, strangely.

She was silent.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I don't know what to do," he said in a frightened whisper, and she felt the chill of it in her bones.

"We'll find our way through this one too," said Rory gently, and kissed his forehead.

He needed to be just held, but would not have admitted it in a thousand years; Rory knew it, and brought him in close. He was hurting, he was slipping away from her, and she clung to him in fear, not knowing what to do rescue him.

She felt the nervous brush of his lashes against her cheek; cradling the angular, chiseled lines of his face in her hands, she brought his face down slowly until she felt his shaky breath brush her lips. She waited for the tiny kiss that never came; with a terrifying need, his mouth crashed against her, teeth knocking, tongues intertwining, fiery kisses planted one after the next. Their breath poured out in desperate gasps. Rory died and awoke inside his mouth, his lips that fiercely caressed hers and left her legs weak and useless. He kissed the tears off her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth, her ears, her forehead; her mouth received him, soft and warm and weakened. She moaned against his lips, sending an electric current through him.

The blind crystal clock on the wall watched in guilty silence; it's hands traveled across it's face until the solemn ring of midnight.

So! There it is! Sucky or good, that's how the sequel will be going. But you won't know the details until I post (suspense, suspense). Look forward to another fresh Trory hot off the grill pretty soon. I'd like to know your opinion on what you'd like to see in it, or if you just want to flame me, or if you have a kind word. Whatever, I live to serve anyway, so watch the boards, it's coming in all it's gory glory.

your humble dedicated author

(and dave matthews fan which is about to get incorporated again into the sequel (diff song))

luce


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